Beg, Steal, or Borrow
by Gillian Beilschmidt
Summary: Steampunk/Pirate AU. Pirate captains Antonio Carriedo and Arthur Kirkland may have to put aside their differences to face a bigger threat. Feat. fem!Romano and fem!America, (Spamano and USUK) but there will be a lot of Hetalia characters in this one. Non-nation human names used. Minor character deaths and strong language, violence, and other themes.
1. Ch 1- That Spanish bastard!

**A/N: Hello, and thanks for reading my story! I am currently editing it to make it more descriptive as well as to make it flow better, so please forgive the updates you might get when there isn't a new chapter posted! I want to make it more steampunk! Also, to my new readers, I switch point-of-views a lot, but usually there's a break or new chapter before I switch, so hopefully it won't be too confusing.**

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**_Off the coast of Italy, December, 1899._**

_What am I doing with my life?_ Antonio Carriedo wondered to himself as he wrapped his free arm tighter around the slight Italian girl's waist. The other hand held a dainty pistol—not his, naturally—to the girl's dark curls. He cut an imposing figure in his high-waisted dark trousers and dark blue frock coat, complete with the gentleman's hat that sat jauntily on his curly brown locks. Everyone in the grand dining room on the airship the _Gloriana_ watched in nervous anticipation as he announced in his cheerful, boisterous voice, "Don't worry! We're only here for your valuables. If you would kindly hand over any jewelry, silver, or fine items you might possess to my capable crew, we will be on our way." He locked eyes with a handsome older man with the girl's same brown hair and eyes across the room, undoubtedly the owner of the fine ship. "No one needs to get hurt," he emphasized, making sure that the pistol was clearly in the man's sight. _Ay, Dios mio, I hate to frighten the ladies, _Antonio thought regretfully as the girl began to cry. Still, it had to be done, if he and his crew were to have any protection against Romulus Vargas' angry men, who were glaring daggers at the sky pirates that made their way confidently throughout the beautiful ship.

"Why are you doing this?" The girl he held onto demanded, glaring at him through watery eyes.

"Shhh, _bella_, as long we get what we need, you'll be fine," he replied, not answering her question and not taking his eyes from the man, undoubtedly the famous Romulus Vargas himself.

"So help me God, if you touch one hair on my _bambina_'s head, I will skin you alive, you rotten Spanish bastard," the Italian gentleman snarled. The Spanish bastard in question just grinned. It hadn't been his plan to take the airship, but when his navigator had spotted the ship emerge from above the Mediterranean clouds, it had been all too easy. They were over Italian land, a neutral country, and the liner was a defenseless luxury passenger ship, no doubt headed for the safety of France, away from the advances of the Russian Empire; many of the more eastern European and African aristocratic families were heading west to escape the military conquests of the power-crazed Ivan Braginski. The Vargas family ship was unmistakable, with the family crest emblazoned on the side of the ship, steadily chugging along under the massive hydrogen-filled balloon. Even in Antonio's beloved Spain, the Vargas family was renowned for their wealth and prosperity. Well, they had been, anyway, before his pirate crew got a hold of them. The Italian girl he was gripping began to shake a little, but he effectively ignored her and monitored the activity on the ship.

He watched his crew carefully move past him through the ornate doorway of the lavish dining room to the hallway and then to the catwalk, where the boarding took place. Another of his crew, a slight brunet Greek, nodded at him as he carried yet another chest of fine Italian wines to Antonio's ship, _the Santa Maria. Yes, things are going quite smoothly_, Antonio thought, pleased. They needed to move before too long, however; his navigator had sighted threatening clouds on the horizon advancing towards them.

Just then, the navigator in question drew his attention. Mathias Kǿhler, a tall, muscular blond, sidled up to a diminutive girl standing next to Vargas, cheekily lifted a beautiful garnet necklace from around her neck, getting rather close to her cleavage as he did so.

"Don't touch me, pirate bastard!" She shrieked, slapping away his hand. Mathias laughed, greatly amused, and dangled the necklace out of her reach infuriatingly.

"I like her, Capitan," he called out to Antonio, who was watching him incredulously. "Can we keep her?"

"Get away from my granddaughter," Vargas snarled, pushing the girl behind him. Mathias quickly drew his knife, pressing it the older man's neck.

"Not so fast, Grandpa," he said with a devilish grin. "I was just having a bit of fun."

"Get off our ship, _figlio di troia_ ," the granddaughter hissed.

"Mathias, listen to the lady," Antonio called, leading the quivering girl at his side over to them. His navigator rolled his blue eyes and reluctantly complied, but not before winking at the fuming Italian girl again. Nearly all of his crew had returned to _the Santa Maria_, except for his first mate, Vash Zwingli, who waited patiently behind him, making sure nothing went wrong, and his second mate, who waited by the catwalk. "I am sorry for my navigator, senorita," he apologized to the irate Italian, who bore an uncanny relation to the brunette in his arms. _They must be sisters_, he mused. _How cute_! She glared at him, golden brown eyes brimming with anger.

"Let my sister go, _bastardo,_" she demanded, not looking in the least afraid of him, although she still hid somewhat behind her grandfather.

"All in good time," he said with a sunny smile. "I can't have my men or I getting shot by your _papi_, now can I?" He cocked the pistol for good measure. The girl in his arms heard the sound and started to cry quietly, much to Antonio's dismay.

"That's the last of the goods, _Kapitän_," his second mate said from behind him. "Shall we?"

"Certainly, if _mi cariña_ will excuse me," Antonio said, beaming at the auburn-haired girl, who let out an indignant, "The _fuck_ did you just call me?" He chuckled, delighted with her temper. She was rather adorable, even with that round face and scowl. Her auburn hair began to slip out of the neat bun piled high on her head, giving her a wonderfully disheveled appearance. Her pinstripe blouse had slipped out of the high-waisted royal blue skirt that accentuated her small waist and emphasized her wealthy background—in the back of his mind he thought that her ensemble could probably pay for his crew's supplies for a week. Some people didn't realize how easy they had it. He found himself feeling a little regretful that he had to leave, but he knew that his first mate would have his head if he didn't go soon, so he carefully began to walk backwards, gently pulling the other Vargas girl with him, his gun hand never faltering from her head.

"I will let you go at the catwalk," he whispered in her ear, earning a glare from both of her relatives. "Do not attempt to get away before that. You are not to leave the catwalk until I have boarded my ship. My men will have guns trained on you until I am safely aboard again. Do you understand? No running to your _abuelo_ before then." They had almost exited the dining room when a shot rang out, and Antonio instinctively threw himself on the ground, bringing the Vargas girl down with him. "Shit," he exclaimed, looking around for the perpetrator, peeping out from behind an overturned table. It was her sister! _What the hell? She would risk shooting her sister to kill him?_ He thought.

He didn't have time to focus on that because his first mate, Vash Zwingli, had grabbed him by the lapels of his captain's coat and jerked him towards the door, slamming it behind them as he fired a shot in the direction of the Vargases.

"Let me go!" His captive wailed, now actively fighting Antonio's death grip.

"Sorry, _querida,_ it looks like you're coming with us!" He shouted, dashing down the hallway to the catwalk, where the boarding platform waited. Vash ran behind them, firing at the men who had burst through the door and were actively pursuing them.

At the end of the narrow catwalk, Antonio's second mate Ludwig Beilschmidt waited impatiently, standing by the tough steel cords that anchored the smaller airship. "Hurry, _Kapitän_!" He yelled. His blue eyes widened in shock as he laid eyes on his captain and his charge, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Get on the ship!" Antonio ordered to Vash, shoving the crying girl at him. In doing so he gave up his protection temporarily, but Vash nodded and forced her up the boarding stairs, knowing that once she was out of sight, the Vargas' men wouldn't hesitate to fire on them.

Romulus Vargas was a mere twenty feet from where the pirates stood, grappling with the tightening cords as the _Santa Maria _groaned against the wind. The gangway door was open, and the heavy winds forced them back away from the exit. "Shoot and she dies!" Vash belted over the roar, as his captain stumbled up the boarding stairs to the ship.

Vargas and the dozen men behind him watched with helpless rage as the pirate airship began to rise, straining the tense cables holding the two ships together. Something caught Antonio's eyes as Ludwig, with great effort, undid the cables latched onto the sturdy pillars on the gangway. That girl again! She raced towards Ludwig with a pistol in her hand, about to fire, when he carelessly brushed her aside. The ship jerked suddenly, rising with a powerful gust of wind, and she went tumbling towards the edge of the gangway.

Instinctively, Antonio reached out and latched onto her wrist, narrowly saving her from certain death, and pulled her up with a grunt onto the boarding stairs, holding her securely. With a powerful tug, the cables came loose, and Ludwig jumped onto the stairs with them, corralling them back up the stairs and into the interior of the ship. The heavy steel door slammed shut immediately behind them, shielding them from the gunfire that was almost certainly aimed their way.

"_Mein Gott_, that was too close," his first mate groaned. He stuffed his Ordnance Revolver back in the inside pocket of his coat and, seeing that his captain was uninjured, made his way to the control room.

But Antonio was rather distracted by the shaking girl in his arms, who had instinctively wrapped her arms around him and was shaking profusely. "Are you alright?" He asked with concern. She must've dropped the pistol when she nearly went over, because she didn't have it in either of the hands that were pressed warmly against his back.

She couldn't speak for a full thirty seconds, and then she released him and let out a torrent of Italian curse words that fairly made his ears burn. "Get off of me!" She yelled, her face red with exertion. "I can't believe you kidnapped me! Dammit!"  
"I saved your life!" Antonio exclaimed, although he wasn't really mad. She was really too adorable to be mad at.

"But you kidnapped _mi sorella!_ And then you kidnapped me! Bastard!" She shouted. She seemed quite fond of that last word, the pirate captain thought with amusement.

"I am sorry," he said brightly, with a smile that rather negated his apology. "But you tried to kill us, and then you very nearly got yourself killed! I am afraid you will be with us for some time, _señorita."_

With a gusty sigh, the Italian stood up and shoved past him, moving further into the interior of the _Santa Maria. _Antonio watched her go, idly wondering where she thought she was going. Having the two granddaughters of the most powerful man in Italy would make traveling a bit more difficult, he mused, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to be too upset about it.

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_Some small notes._

_Human names, in order of appearance:_

_Spain- Antonio Carriedo, Captain_

_fem!North Italy- Feliciana Vargas_

_Roman Empire- Romulus Vargas/Grandpa Roma_

_Greece- Heracles Karpusi, bo'sun/boatswain_

_Denmark- Mathias Kǿhler, navigator_

_fem!South Italy- Lovina Vargas_

_Switzerland- Vash Zwingli, first mate_

_Germany- Ludwig Beilschmidt, second mate_

_Some little translations, using roughly my knowledge and Google translate:_

_Spanish:_

_Ay, Dios mio- oh, my God_

_Querida- sweetheart, dear_

_Senorita- unmarried woman; lady_

_Mi carina- my dear, my sweetheart_

_Abuelo- grandfather_

_Italian:_

_Bella- beautiful girl_

_Bambina- little/baby girl_

_Figlio di troia- son of a bitch_

_Bastardo- bastard_

_Sorella- sister_

_German:_

_Mein Gott- my God_

_Kapitän- Captain_

_Reviews are welcome, as always!_


	2. Ch 2- The Game's Afoot!

**A/N: And now to Arthur's POV!**

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**_-One Week Later, Edinburgh, Scotland-_**

Arthur Kirkland was not the sort of man to actively seek trouble. However, he was essentially a hired hand—not _strictly_ a pirate, mind you—and rather poor at the moment, so he wasn't going to turn down a job opportunity, even if it meant going after his old adversary, the notorious pirate Captain Antonio Carriedo. He wasn't even in the same league as that sordid fellow. No, Arthur Kirkland was a privateer, and only went after enemy ships, in the name of his dear Queen*. So what if privateering was legalized piracy? Stealing from thieves wasn't really stealing, right? He stared deeply into his cup of Earl Gray tea, searching its watery depths for some answer as he smoothed the crumpled wanted poster out on the wooden bar counter.

"Captain?" A quiet voice asked, stirring him from his meditations.

He looked up, smiling at his soft-spoken first mate, Kiku Honda. "Sorry, Mr. Honda. I guess I'm a bit out of it."

"Understandable," the Japanese man said, nodding. He leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. "So you are going pursue the _Santa Maria_?" The bounty on the famous Spanish pirate's head was quite high, after all—fifty thousand pounds would be enough to outfit his small dirigible with new equipment, pay his crew, and have plenty left over for himself.

Arthur glanced around them—the Edinburgh pub was mostly empty, except for a few regulars loitering in the corner, and one or two people sitting a few seats down from them at the bar. He thought that the blonde sitting at the table closest to them was listening earlier, but he dismissed it. He was being paranoid. Not that they were doing anything wrong, but…

"I think so," he said with a great sigh, as though chasing sky pirates was terribly taxing, though he loved his job. He shook his head as his best friend let out a low chuckle. Kiku was used to the Englishman's rather contrary nature.

"That is well, because I have already taken the liberty of contacting Jack and Alistair," Kiku said cautiously, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

"Bollocks. I was hoping I wouldn't have to see that bastard for at least another year or two," Arthur grumbled, referring to his elder half-brother, Alistair Kirkland. He was overly fond of alcohol and teasing Arthur, but when he wasn't doing either of those two things, he was a damn good airshipsman. Their cousin Jack was a decent fellow, though, and usually served as Arthur's second mate. "Did you tell them that we were in Edinburgh?"

"Yes," Kiku said smoothly, his coffee-colored eyes as impassive as usual. "They should be here by the end of the week. And we can easily pick up some more crew members in town, if necessary."

"I swear, you know what I'm planning before I do," Arthur said with a sigh, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "Very well. Once we have that foolhardy Spaniard in our grasp, I'll have enough cash to get a permanent restraining order on that damn brother of mine."

"Of course," Kiku said agreeably, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He would never say anything against his captain, but sometimes he needed the Scot's guidance, in his opinion. A flicker of movement caught the first mate's attention, but it was just someone getting up to leave. "Well then, Captain, I suppose I'll get going. Shall we meet tomorrow for lunch and discuss the supply list for the trip?"

"Absolutely," Arthur said, shaking his hand and giving him a rare smile. "Good night, Kiku."

"Good night, Captain." Kiku picked up his long black overcoat and slipped it on before heading out into the wintry Scottish night, leaving the young captain alone to his thoughts for the time being. He stared at the caricature in front of him, rubbing his fingers over the yellowed paper obsessively. The pirate captain grinned cheekily at him with a rather child-like smile, his bright green eyes a similar shade to Arthur's own. He didn't look like a pirate—he didn't look calculating or threatening enough, for one, but Arthur knew his adversary well, and knew that looks could be very deceiving. Yes, Carriedo could be quite deadly when he pleased. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the bartender tapped the wooden counter in front of him, startling him.

"This is for you," the Scottish bartender grumbled, shoving a mug of ale towards him.

"Ah," Arthur said, frowning, "I didn't order this-"

"Naw, you didn't," the bartender agreed grumpily. "She did." He nodded towards the blonde that Arthur had noticed earlier, but ignored. _She's still here?_ He thought. And then—_why did she buy me a drink?_ Arthur followed his gaze, and the woman—a girl, really—looked up from her table and grinned. He smiled back at her, surprised but flattered, and raised the mug to her.

Taking it as an invitation, she boldly sauntered over to where he sat on his barstool and seated herself down next to him. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with crescent moon-shaped amber waves that reached just past her chin, a heart-shaped face, and a huge smile. Her black breeches were fairly tight and seemed to be made for a man and she wore a loose, cream-colored blouse under a brown leather jacket that turned up at the collar, making her look like quite jockey-like…or maybe like a pilot. What was a young woman like her doing in the middle of a Scottish pub on a Sunday night? She didn't appear to be a prostitute, although her dress was quite unusual for a young woman, and women didn't usually travel alone.

"Thank you for the drink," Arthur began slowly, watching her curiously.

"Sure," the young woman replied, flashing him a dazzling smile. "I thought your friend would never leave." She rolled her blue eyes dramatically and propped her elbows up on the counter, kicking her feet childishly. She seemed perfectly at ease, a quality he rather envied. He never felt easy, except for when he was in the air.

He felt heat creep into his face at that comment. She was being rather forward. _Especially_ for a woman. "I—er, yes, he had some business to attend to," he said lamely, mentally kicking himself for completely wrecking their conversation. "What brings you here?"

"I'm staying over in Scotland for a few days, until I fly out again," she replied in a clear American accent, signaling the bar tender to bring her a drink. "Just a little whiskey, please," she told him, smiling charmingly at him. "Jack Daniels, if you have it." He obliged, pouring a small amount of amber whiskey into a tumbler, and left them.

"Fly out? Are you leaving with family?" He queried.

"No, I'm a pilot," she announced proudly. "Amelia F. Jones, at your service!" She stuck out her hand to shake.

Arthur stared at it for a moment. Where he was from, ladies did not shake hands with gentlemen. Or at all, for that matter. Why, she wasn't even wearing gloves! He shook her hand awkwardly anyway, giving her his best smile. "Arthur Kirkland. I'm a privateer."

"I know," she said, leaning forward with a gleam in her bright eyes. "I overheard your conversation. I'm offering you my services as a navigator. I want to join your crew."

The Englishman frowned. "You eavesdropped on us? That's quite rude."

"Mmm," the American replied, looking not at all repentant. "So. Can I join? I promise, you won't regret it. I'm damn good at what I do." She grinned again. _She's obviously used to getting her way,_ he thought, his sense of irritation growing with each second that passed.

"That's very, ahem, generous of you, Miss Jones, but I already have a navigator-"–_even if he is a bloody git_—"and what's more, it is not safe for one such as yourself."

The girl cocked her head to the side, getting a dangerous look in her eyes. "Such as myself? You mean a woman, don't you," she said darkly. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Arthur said abruptly, albeit with some regret. He didn't like to disappoint a lady, especially one that was rather attractive. But it couldn't be helped. It wasn't even an option. He downed the ale quickly, and stood up. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Jones. Thank you for the drink, but I must be going—"

"Wait, you can't go!" Amelia cried, jumping up as well. She looked up at him imploringly, pouting slightly. "You have to let me join! I can help you catch him," she added in a lower voice, although she still spoke too loudly.

"Him? Miss, I don't think you realize what you're saying—"

"Just give me a chance," Amelia urged. She reached out to grab the sleeve of his scarlet overcoat. He cringed. He was not good at this sort of thing.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," he said curtly, pulling away from her. He put on his black bowler hat and nodded at her. "Good evening, Miss Jones." He turned on his heel quickly, before he could change his mind. Not that he'd even considered it! Of course not. Without another glance back, he strode out of the bar, leaving the irritated American girl in his wake.

"Damn Englishman," she said crossly, and downed the tumbler of whiskey before leaving the pub as well, storming out into the chilly Scottish night.

The next few days passed far too slowly for the privateer's liking. Supplies had to be bought, new muscle had to be recruited—he'd lost his bo'sun, a stout Swede, to another ship on the past trip—and other preparations had to be made for the journey. But now, on a balmy Friday, Arthur stood in front of his darling ship, the _Victoria,_ swelling with pride as more hydrogen seeped into the giant balloon above the airship, growing steadily with a hiss. Yes, it was good to be going into the air again. He never felt quite right on land, for some reason. The _Victoria_ was a smaller model, built to hold a medium-sized crew and a small cargo bay, more adept at chasing down winds than carrying passengers across oceans. She was far from the finest ship on the line, but Arthur loved her, more than he loved any person, certainly. She was his pride and joy—he had hand painted the elegant gold lettering on her side himself. Now, she was almost ready to go—the necessary repairs had been made yesterday in the Edinburgh Aerodrome, and she was itching to leave the ground as well.

He stood on the steel platform leading up to the gangway of the small ship, watching his crew carry crates of foodstuffs and other supplies into the cargo bay. He checked his pocket watch. Thirteen hundred hours. They would be leaving shortly, and that damn brother of his was still missing. Bloody Scotsman. Probably drunk somewhere, knowing him—

"Artie, m'boy!" Someone bellowed from behind him, his raucous voice echoing off the walls of the aerodrome. Burly arms gripped him from behind, nearly lifting him off the ground. "I missed yeh!"  
"Put me down, you wanker!" Arthur yelled, his composure slipping momentarily. "I told you to be here two hours ago! Where were you?"

"Out and about," the Scotsman chuckled, setting his younger brother down roughly.

Arthur backed away from him, glowering. "I'm sure," he said through his teeth. "Now help the rest of the crew load up. We're leaving soon."

"Aye, lad," he said, swiping his hat to briefly ruffle his younger brother's hair.

"That's _Captain_ to you!" Arthur bellowed, reddening slightly as another crew from the neighboring port looked over at them curiously, swiping back his hat. "Git," he mumbled to himself.

He moved to help his second mate, Jack Kirkland, relocate the extra sandbags for safety into the cargo bay, and looked around him. His small crew looked about ready to go—Kiku was already on board, inspecting the interior one last time, and Alistair and his underlings had finished moving everything. It was finally time to go.

"Alright, men," he announced, striding up the gangway in his finely polished boots. "Let's get her going, shall we?" He signaled to the aerodrome workers, who moved to release the _Victoria_ from her hold on the dock, which stuck out over the cavernous interior of the building, several hundred feet in the air. The sealed doors in the dome above them slowly creaked open, making a horrific screeching noise as bright sunshine poured into the aerodrome. _At last_, Arthur thought giddily. Removing the last anchoring cables and sealing the gangway door, the _Victoria _began to rise smoothly into the air, slowly but surely.

_Get ready, Carriedo_, Arthur thought smugly, a devilish smile crossing his face. _We're coming for you._

* * *

_*Queen Victoria. Yes, Queen Victoria died in 1901, so she may have already been dead by the time this AU takes place (late 1899)_

_*Bosun. Shorthand for boatswain-someone who oversees lower crew members on the ship, a "petty officer". _

_Human Names Used:_

_England/Great Britain: Arthur Kirkland_

_Japan: Kiku Honda_

_fem!America: Amelia F. Jones_

_OC Scotland: Alistair Kirkland (I made them half-brothers so that it would be more acceptable if they were raised in different areas, hence Alistair's Scottish accent as opposed to Arthur's English one.) Himaruya didn't give him an official name, so I used one of the more popular fan names._

_OC Australia: Jack Kirkland. Again, using one of the more popular fandom names for our dear Aussie._

_No translations in this chapter, I think, unless you have some trouble with Arthur's British slang._

_As always, reviews are appreciated-also since Australia and Scotland are technically OC's (well, Australia is an official character now but he's new so eh), please let me know if you think I'm not characterizing them properly._


	3. Ch 3- On Board the Santa Maria

**A/N: And now to hear from Lovina's POV. Man, she curses a lot. Oh, Romano.**

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"_Kapitän_, what are we going to do with our…passengers?" Vash Zwingli asked his captain mildly, watching as the Spaniard spread a navigational map out on the table of his room. The Vargas girls had been on the ship for nine days now. Fortunately, their ship had rooms to spare, but the fact was…they were women, and they didn't belong on a pirate ship. Not to mention, they were from a well-off, aristocratic family that would most definitely be sending people after them. Vash sighed. Why did he always get himself into these messes? He could be at home, polishing his fine Swiss revolver collection, watching his little sister grow into a fine young woman. But he would stand by Antonio, through thick and thin. After all, the Spaniard had saved him and his younger sister from poverty when a famine struck Switzerland, and he would never forget that.

"I don't know yet, _amigo_," Antonio said brightly, giving him his characteristic smile. _Nothing seems to faze him_, Vash thought. "They're not too much trouble, I don't think. Feliciana is a wonderful cook, too! Much better than Mathias." He shuddered a little. Danish food was supposed to be delicious, but then he supposed that Mathias had been hired for his navigational skills, and not for his cooking. _Still, it's nice to have ladies on the ship_, Antonio thought happily. Especially Lovi. Er, Lovina. Although she didn't seem to like him very much. He sighed a little. Yesterday, he had asked her to help Tino clean the kitchen, and she had responded with some choice curse words and a lot of violent hand gestures. He didn't get it. He had been nothing but kind to her. Surely she could help out a little around the ship…

"Well, sir, I would advise that we drop them off when we visit Marseilles," Vash commented, watching the Spaniard trace their flight over Europe on the map. "Having them on board isn't safe. Vargas saw what our ship looks like. I'd be surprised if he didn't already have a bounty on our heads and posters circulating Europe."

"Mmm," Antonio agreed absently, not really paying attention to his first mate.

The Swiss sighed, fiddling with the buttons on his forest green jacket while he struggled with what to say. "Sir, I really think-"

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of a violent crash. Both men looked at each other and then bolted out the door, running towards the source of the commotion. It came from the small kitchenette by the breakfast room down the hall. When they arrived, they found a very irate Italian girl cursing at a completely shattered glass container, looking as upset as she was embarrassed. She wore the same outfit that she had when they first ransacked the Vargas ship, having refused male clothing, instead opting to wash it when needed.

"Lov-er, Miss Vargas?" Antonio asked, concerned. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Vash looked at him incredulously. Why did he even care—

"I just broke something, dammit," she grumbled, not looking at either of the men as she bent down to pick up the shards of glass that lay sprinkled on the floor like crushed diamonds. "I was just cleaning up the damn mess Feli made, that's all."

"You need to be more careful," Vash said with a sigh. Honestly, this was a pirate ship. He didn't have time for clumsy, spoiled, bratty children—

"Ah," she exclaimed as she pricked her finger, and cursed softly. She rubbed the injured thumb on her navy blue skirt—no way was she wearing those stupid breeches that these pirate bastards had offered her—and continued smoothing the glass into a pile.

"Here, let me help," Antonio offered, sinking to his knees on the dirty floor next to her. "Vash, will you go get some bandages for me, please?" He turned his attention to the kneeling girl and completely missed the look that his first mate and friend gave him before walking away. "Let me see that." He grabbed her right hand and studied it carefully, seeing if he could find any shards embedded in the skin, before she cried out in protest.

"What are you doing? That hurts, dammit!" She said, scowling.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, looking up from her thumb to her blushing face. "Are you hot?" He asked, pressing his free hand to her forehead. "Your face is on fire."

"Don't patronize me!" She yelled, jerking away from him. Her face was almost as red as the highlights in her auburn hair. It was really cute, actually. Wait, cute? No, he just meant—

She bit her lip as she pulled the tiny shard out of her thumb, wincing a little.

"Last time I try to do anything nice for pirates," she muttered, standing up and dusting herself off.

Antonio watched her with concern, wanting to be close to her again but not wanting to aggravate her further. "Ah—well, actually, it was quite helpful of you to clean up in here," he said, looking around the newly scrubbed kitchen. Really, besides the broken dish and dirty floor, it looked great. She had obviously spent quite a bit of time in here, a feat for someone who had probably never lifted a finger for herself in her life. "I'm glad you're starting to help around the ship."

She gave him a venomous look. "Don't get used to it," she snapped. "I'm a _lady_, dammit. I don't fucking clean. I just felt bad because Feli made a mess, I don't know—" She threw her hands up in the air dismissively. "I'm going back to see her now."

Antonio tried to figure out something to say to get her to stay, but nothing came out of his mouth—for once—and she walked out of the kitchen without another word to him.

There was something about her, Antonio thought, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to get distracted by cute Italian girls. With a sigh, he resigned himself to mapping out their trip to Marseilles with Vash.

* * *

Lovina Vargas couldn't sleep. It had to be around one or two, she thought, but the ship was mostly still. The room was completely dark—no moonlight shone through the porthole window. She could barely see by the starlight. She had squeezed into the bed next to her _sorella_, in the tiny bed that was bolted to the wall of the ship, the _Santa Maria_. She still couldn't believe that they had been on the ship for an entire week now. They should have been back in Rome, celebrating the New Year with their grandpa, but instead, they were here, flying God knew where with a bunch of thugs. _Damn pirates_, she thought, but really she was relieved that they hadn't harmed either of them yet. She wouldn't admit it, but she was scared out of her mind. Well, who wouldn't be? She had been kidnapped by a group of dangerous men, and what was worse, her sister had been too. She rolled over to stare at Feli, who looked even more vulnerable when she was asleep. She was only younger than Lovi by a few minutes, but even so, Lovina was fiercely protective of her twin. She was so trusting and confident in her sister's ability to get them out of this scrape that she had finally stopped crying herself to sleep. Lovina wasn't so certain, though. For one, it wasn't like they could just leave. They were thousands of feet up in the air, and she had no idea when they were landing, or where. No, she didn't have a plan yet, but she was prepared to do anything to protect the two of them.

Sighing, Lovina rolled out of bed, realizing that sleep was once again going to evade her. As quietly as possible, she padded over to the door—damn this darkness!—and opened it cautiously, straining to see through the slight opening. After a glance back at Feli, she closed the door with a gentle click, and realized it had locked. She swore quietly under her breath, but there was nothing to be done for it now. In the mean time…

The hallway was completely deserted. Most of the crew was asleep, except for the one or two men who made up the night watch, but they would be on a different level of the ship, she reasoned. They had only been on board for a few days, but she was quick to note their schedules. The other men slept soundly in the rooms lining the hallway of the crew's quarters. She could hear some of them snoring through the walls and scowled. That stupid Dane that had harassed her the first day was probably the source of the loudest snores, which came from her right. She shook her head and left the hallway, moving silently through the ship. Directly in front of her lay the stairwell, which led to the second level, where the navigation and dining rooms were. She walked up the stairs, shivering a bit as her bare feet touched the frigid metal stairs.

The second floor was more open than the second. It led directly to the breakfast room, with the galley tucked off to the side behind a separate wall. Her eyes raked over the now-familiar sights: the long, elegant table in the center of the room, with a Spanish coat of arms mounted on the wall behind the head of it, and an extinguished fireplace at the far end of the room, with a few armchairs bolted into the floor. During the day, it was one of her favorite rooms, because of the huge glass windows that allowed the sun to pour in and warm it. She passed through it, trailing her hand along the smooth wooden surface of the table before leaving again, not letting herself get distracted by the beautiful starry sights outside.

She passed through a few more rooms, not exactly sure what she was looking for, but determined to keep going. After passing through a map room that looked vaguely familiar, she stumbled upon the navigation room. She had made it all the way to the front of the ship, the prow, as the crew called it. The room was lined with book shelves that eventually trailed off to reveal floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the front of the room. In the middle of the room was the giant helm, used to control the rudder below. It reminded her of the ornately decorated helms of the ships she'd read about in Grandpa Rome's storybooks. She looked around hesitantly, but then decisively crossed over to it and gently touched the metal helm. It wasn't as fine as a grand Italian ship, of course, but it was still interesting to look at—the familiar-looking steering wheel reminded her of a spider web with all of its different intersecting lines. Silvery script was emblazoned on the contraption, no doubt to make it more appealing, but it was Spanish, which somewhat lessened the effect in her opinion.

"What are you doing?" Someone asked curiously from behind her.

She jumped, guilty, and then cursed when she saw it was only the mild mannered bo'sun. What was his name? Something stupid, like a fairy tale. Hansel? No, it was…Heracles, yeah. He wasn't too bad for a pirate, but she still didn't trust him, mostly because he had creepy cat-like eyes that seemed to stare into her soul. "I'm not doing anything wrong!" She said defensively, her face flushing all the same.

"I see," he said smoothly, those bright bottle green eyes watching her intently before he gave her a tiny smile. "Do you want me to show you how to steer?"

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if it was a trick or not. "Okay," she said finally. She tentatively put her hands on the helm.

"No, no," the Greek man said quietly. "Like this." He moved her hands to a better position, so she could move it more easily. "You just need to move it the slightest bit to make the rudder follow you. It's a big ship, but she moves pretty smoothly."

She felt the ship respond to her and felt a thrill rise up in her chest. _This isn't half bad, _she thought. _I can do this navigating stuff!_

"And of course, you have to take into account which direction the wind is facing, your altitude, how much weight we're carrying, what our location is…" He trailed off, looking thoughtful. "So what do you think?"

"Of what?" Lovina grumbled.

"Of the ship. Of the crew." He seemed genuinely interested in her answer, and it threw her off a bit.

"Hmph," she grunted. "You're all damn thieves, is what I think. And that captain of yours. What the hell is he going to do with us, anyway?"

Heracles smirked just a tiny bit, though she couldn't see it, since she faced the helm. "Oh, I have a vague idea," he said in that quiet way of his. She turned to glare at him until he added, "I think he's going to drop you off in Marseilles. That's our next destination."

"Well, good," she huffed, although strangely, she felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. _What the hell?_ She thought.

"No, keep your hands where they were," Heracles corrected, looping his arms around her waist so he could guide her arms. "Otherwise we'll stray off course."

"R-right," Lovina said, feeling her face turn red again. _Stupid cat lover._

"_Hej! _Am I interrupting something?" Someone drawled from behind them, causing her to yelp.

"Shut up," she said hotly, when she saw it was that stupid navigator. She hadn't even bothered to learn his name in the week or so that they'd been here.

The blond grinned at her, looking rakish in the dim light that streamed in through the windows. He turned to Heracles and winked. "Well, I was gonna relieve ya, Herc, but if you want to stay out here, I understand…"

"No, I want to sleep," Heracles said peacefully, moving away from Lovina. "Good night."

"I've never seen him move that quickly," Lovina commented, as the Greek left silently.

"Yeah, he really likes to sleep," the Dane said with a shrug, turning to look in the window to fix his oddly spiky hair. Lovina scoffed at the gesture, redirecting his attention to her. "Speaking of, why are you still up, eh?"

"Couldn't sleep," Lovina admitted. "But I'm pretty tired of dealing with the two of you, so I guess I'll turn in now."

"I bet," Mathias remarked with a smirk. She glared at him and his stupid pointy hair. Stupid Dane.

"Don't talk to me like that, Viking bastard," she spat out, and stormed off. _Fucking pirates_, she thought.

When she got back to her room, she forgot the door was locked. With an angry sigh, she sank down against the doorframe. She knew better than to hope that Feli would wake up. Her sister could sleep through a hurricane, not to mention that the happy-go-lucky girl could be positively terrifying when awoken from her slumber. Trying to make herself comfortable, she thought to herself that at least they would be out of here soon. Even if it was in Marseilles, she and her _sorella_ would make their way back to Italy, and be safe again.

* * *

_Hope you like GerIta in addition to Spamano and USUK, because that will be coming up in future chapters (far more than I originally planned...). Also, you'll get to learn some more about the other crew members. I love the Santa Maria crew-such an interesting mix of characters._

_*bosun- boatswain-a petty officer on a merchant ship who controls the work of other seamen. Because Heracles is very hardworking and good at managing others. Heh._

_The galley is the kitchen, and the prow is the front of a ship, and the stern is the back-just some terms for you._

_German:_

_Kapit__ä_n - Captain

_Spanish:_

_Amigo - friend_

_Danish:_

_Hej - Hello_

_Italian:_

_Sorella - sister_


	4. Ch 4-All According to Plan Or Not

**A/N: Haha. So guess who recently found out that the British Royal Air Force was founded in 1918, and would therefore not be appropriate for this time period (1900)? Me. Yeah. I changed it. So now, instead of having served in the RAF, dear Artie served in the Royal Navy. Rule Britannia ~**

* * *

Day ten of the voyage. The _Victoria _ passed out of Scotland with little difficulty, and then made for the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Italy, where the _Santa Maria_ was last been sighted. They progressed slowly along the coastline, towards France and Spain, prowling the airways. Nothing yet, but they were going to stop over soon in Marseilles, a popular port for honest traders and pirates alike, and were sure to pick up some news about their adversaries there. In the meantime, it was a fine day for flying. The _Victoria_ was moving along quite nicely with the help of her powerful Maybach engines, and Arthur couldn't help but swell with pride as he imagined the way the sturdy but slender airship looked from below. He remembered seeing his first ever airship only a few years ago as a young man of only sixteen, the Luftshiff Zeppelin I, moving through the German sky like a giant bird of prey, and falling in love. That was when he decided to pursue a career in the sky, enlisted with the Royal Navy, and later took flying lessons. Anything to be able to work with one of those beautiful ships, he'd thought as he practically starved putting himself through flight school. And now, here he was, at twenty-five, one of the youngest captains in the entire force, with his own ship, albeit a small one. _But you're all mine_, he thought, fondly caressing the beautiful, worn old helm. Technically, navigation was Alistair's job, but Arthur didn't really give a damn at the moment. He just wanted to be in the control car, feeling the ship move beneath his careful touch. He smiled to himself, watching the wispy altostratus clouds part briefly for a second, but not enough to properly see the vast European landscape thousands of feet below. He caught a glimpse of his smug expression in the freshly cleaned glass window and laughed. He had to admit, the uniform was one of the things he loved about his occupation. The royal blue overcoat and gold braid on his shoulders made him swell with pride every time he saw them. He carefully adjusted his collar and settled his captain's hat carefully on his messy mop. _ Not bad, old chap_, he thought, grinning.

"Hey, laddie," his brother said cheerfully, his green eyes sparkling with mischief when he saw Arthur admiring his reflection

Arthur whirled around. "Oh, there you are," Arthur said, slightly flustered. He frowned when he noticed that he stood a little too close to his favorite glass globe, and narrowed his eyes at his navigator.

"Any update on Carriedo?" Alistair asked, wisely not commenting.

"You're the navigator, you're the one that's supposed to be near the radio room," Arthur said bossily. "I haven't checked lately. There was nothing new at twelve hundred hours."

"That was five hours ago," Alistair mused, looking contemplative.

"As always, your mathematical prowess astounds me," Arthur said smugly, moving past his brother to fiddle with the radio on the dashboard. He ignored the redhead's glare and added, "But we'll be in Marseilles tomorrow anyway, so we should be able to gather a lead there."

"Because lots of low sorts hang out there, ye mean, and they'll sell out their fellow thieves," Alistair pointed out.

"Well, yes," Arthur admitted. "That is how pirates tend to operate. They're not trustworthy creatures."

"What is this 'they' all about, eh? Ye're a bloody pirate yourself," the Scot pointed out, grinning hugely. He knew it was a touchy subject with the Brit.

"I am no such thing!" Arthur exclaimed. "I am a legitimate privateer. I have a document bearing Queen Victoria's signature and everything—"

"Whatever helps ye sleep at night," Alistair said with a smirk, brushing past his brother to take note of the various readings on the dashboard, humming to himself as he did so.

"Now listen here, you git, you had better start showing me some respect, or else I'll-"

"Ye'll what, Artie?" Alistair said, turning to grin down at his little brother, who stood two inches shorter than himself. Despite their familial connection, Alistair was quite stocky and muscular, whereas Arthur, while not short, was quite wiry, but he refused to be intimated by him. _Really, it's too easy to rile him_, Alistair thought fondly, smirking at his captain's irritated expression.

"Don't you challenge me, Alistair," he hissed. "I served in the damn Royal Navy, dammit, and I-"

But fortunately for the brothers, the radio began to buzz, and Kiku Honda's voice crackled out from the tiny speakers: "Captain Kirkland? Your presence is requested in the cargo bay…something has come up…."

Turning to glare at his older brother, Arthur said venomously, "This isn't over," but Alistair only laughed and ruffled his hair, causing the younger man to rabbit punch him in the arm. As his brother let out a low hiss of pain, Arthur smirked and marched over to the radio and drawled, "Coming, Mr. Honda."

He quickly spotted Kiku among the giant crates in the aluminum-lined bay, although the room was rather large. He was partly obscured by a large crate containing foodstuffs, but Arthur could see his dark head bobbing anxiously—was he talking to someone? He could barely make out what he was saying.

"…the fact that you are here complicates things considerably…"

And then, was that…a woman's voice?

Intrigued, Arthur hurried over to where Kiku knelt on the cold metal floor, and what he saw before him made him freeze. "What. The. Hell." He felt his body began to shake with anger, but he couldn't control himself in time. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?" He yelled (maybe Alistair wasn't the only one in the family with a temper).

Because it was none other than that damn blonde from the bar_,_ the bold-as-brass American girl he had seen not ten days ago. And she was on his ship! How the hell was she on his ship?!

She looked rather pitiful where she sat on the ground, leaning against a crate. She hugged her leather bomber jacket tightly about herself, and her lips were tinged slightly blue—and no wonder. The cargo bay became unbearably cold after the sun began to dip down below the horizon. Kiku crouched next to her, but he faced his captain, looking uncertain for once. "Captain," he began, trying to placate the irate man, "I don't think that yelling will help-"

"Explain to me how you got on my ship. Right. Now," he said dangerously, eyes flashing with fury, striding over to her and standing over her ominously.

Amelia Jones struggled to her feet, shaking off Kiku's offer of assistance. She stood in front of him, shivering a little, as she met his eyes unabashedly. She smiled a tiny bit, tilting her head to the side. "I told you that you should have let me on your ship," she said coyly, evading his question.

"You-you have some nerve," he spluttered, feeling his face redden with anger. "Why did you sneak on my ship? What were you thinking?"

She pretended to think for a moment, before laughing a little. "Well, you rejected my kind offer to join your crew," she said in a very reasonable tone, as though he were being difficult.

"Didn't your parents every teach you not to throw yourself on someone's hospitality?" He said furiously, clenching his fists.

"I would hardly call a week and a half spent in cargo 'hospitality'," the American replied, sticking out her lower lip petulantly. Dammit, she looked kind of cute, some small part of his brain thought, and he wanted to hit himself for thinking such idiotic things. "At least not where I come from. But I know you Brits tend to stand on ceremony a bit more."

"Don't you mock me, Miss," he said in his severest tone, standing dangerously close to her, but she didn't back down. In fact, she seemed to be _enjoying_ his anger, if that tiny grin on her lips was anything to go by. "We don't take kindly to stowaways on this ship. Now, answer my questions. How did you get here?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, you know. I stowed away in a crate. Poked some air holes in it with my Bowie knife. It's not like the cargo bay is hopping with activity, after all. And I came out at night for food, but I was really hungry today, so I went out just a while ago and Kiku caught me sneaking back in. You were going to find out eventually. Actually, I was thinking of paying a trip to the crew's quarters to find somewhere nicer to sleep, anyway," she mused thoughtfully.

"You what?" He exclaimed, nearly turning apoplectic with rage. The idea of a lady in the crew's quarters, it was really unbearable-

She sneezed then, causing Kiku to pipe up, "If I might make a suggestion, Captain…perhaps we could go to the galley? It is rather chilly down here, and I'm afraid our, ahem, guest has caught cold…"

Amelia beamed at him, clapping the Japanese man on the shoulder. "Thanks, Kiku," she said affectionately, causing the Japanese man to color slightly at the informality. "Shall we?" She winked at Arthur and bounced off in the direction of the stairs.

"Wait, I'm not finished with you!" Arthur said, running after her. He caught her wrist, pulling her up short. "Don't think you just have the run of my ship," he said imperiously, his trademark scowl in place.

"Aw, Arthur, don't be mad," she said, smiling at him. "Besides, Kiku said I could have something to eat—"

"That's Captain Kirkland to you," he said acidly, but his anger was simmering down to irritation and weariness as he wondered what they were going to do with her, since they obviously couldn't leave her in the freezing cargo bay. _Dammit. Bloody Americans and their lack of respect_. "Why are you accommodating this woman, Mr. Honda?" Arthur growled to his first mate, who looked like he was trying to hold back a smile.

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said, straight-faced. "I suppose your sense of chivalry must be rubbing off on me." He knew Arthur wouldn't back down from that.

The privateer mumbled some indistinguishable words before finally sighing and saying, "Alright. Let's take this somewhere less frigid, shall we?" Without a second glance back at either of them, Arthur stomped away.

Amelia watched him go and turned to look thoughtfully at Kiku. "He isn't taking this very well," she said matter-of-factly.

"Give him time," Kiku replied with a small smile, and they followed him up the stairs.

* * *

Amelia admired the interior of Arthur's cabin. It was really quite beautiful, if simple. It was smaller than she expected, but then this was a rather small airship. He had a British flag proudly pinned on the wall, and a simple bed, table, and bookshelf overflowing with what looked like Shakespeare and some other pretentious-sounding authors were the only decorations. "Take a seat," he said, sighing, gesturing to the sturdy oak table.

She sat down obediently and regarded him with interest, trying to figure out if she regretted what she had done. _No. Not even a little bit. _He took off his captain's hat and laid it on the table before putting his head in his hands. "So, Captain," she said merrily. "I know you don't want me here, but I am ready to prove my worth! You see, I—"

"Miss Jones," he drawled, looking up at her wearily, "I don't think you realize the gravity of the situation that you have so ungraciously forced yourself into."

She pouted slightly. "I did know what I was getting myself into," she argued. "I'm going to help you catch Carriedo."

"No, you are absolutely not," he said, jade eyes flashing. "However unfortunate, you are now on my ship, and as such, you are under my protection—"

"Wait, wait," she interrupted, causing Kiku to cringe a little. Arthur's right eye twitched slightly with annoyance, but she moved on obliviously. "I don't expect anything from you. I know how to defend myself. I served in the American army, and I have lots of experience—"

"Really?" Arthur said acidly. "Know a lot about defense, do you? Then how did I manage to get this from you?" He held out her trusty Bowie knife that she always kept in her left sleeve teasingly out of her reach.

She frowned, shaking her jacket sleeve fruitlessly. "How the—when-" She exclaimed.

"When I grabbed your wrist," he explained dismissively, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. "My point is, you're not going anywhere near a pirate. I can't have the death of some crazy American girl on my head."

She laughed. "I'm not going to die on you. Heroes don't die!" She flashed him a huge smile.

"Furthermore, your presence will undoubtedly be a distraction to my crew," the Brit continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "_And_ we don't have any rooms. Already two of my men are double bunking."

"I won't distract them," she protested earnestly. "And I can stay in the cargo hold—"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Miss," Kiku said delicately. "If we head any further north, the cargo bay will be unbearable at night."

"Well, I'll stay in the radio room or something," she said desperately. "Just—"

"No," Arthur said firmly. She turned from Kiku to frown at him. He had rather large eyebrows, she noticed, which was a shame, because his eyes were a very pleasing color. "That isn't acceptable." He sighed deeply and said, "I don't want…anything to happen to you. So you'll stay in here. I'll sleep on the floor."

Kiku looked at him in surprise, and Amelia said, "I can't let you do that—"

"Too damn bad," he said grumpily, standing up abruptly. "You're here now, and this is my ship, so you will listen to me while you're here." He looked like he was about to walk out, but as it was his room, Kiku turned to Amelia and said, "Let's go the galley and get you something to eat, hm?"

"But I-"

"Really, you look famished," Kiku insisted with rare force, wanting to separate the two strong-willed people before something bad happened. Reluctantly, Amelia allowed Kiku to drag her out of the room, but not before she awkwardly made eye contact with Arthur again. _This is not going at all like I planned,_ she thought with a sigh.

She couldn't pretend she wasn't grateful though, she thought as she followed Kiku to the galley. _I'll prove my worth_, she thought with determination, nodding to herself. _I'm a damn good shot, a top-notch pilot, and good at sneaking onto ships! This just proves it! Yeah, he definitely needs my help. Even if he doesn't want to admit it. _ She grinned. This was going to be the best adventure she'd had in years! With the prize money, maybe she could finally buy a new plane, and buy an apartment for herself and her brother Mattie! Then they could live together like family did, and look after each other. It would happen, one way or another. She would make sure of it.

* * *

_A note about Arthur's uniform. Late nineteenth century/early twentieth century information on Royal Navy uniforms was sadly lacking, so in case you're curious, he is dressed in a similar manner as a captain would around, say, the Battle of Trafalgar, during the Napoleonic Wars. Hot damn. Navy uniforms. Oh well, Arthur's kind of an old man, so he'd probably dress like an old man, anyway._

_Also, here is a list of the Victoria crew, since I made one for the Santa Maria, in case y'all get confused._

_Arthur Kirkland - captain_

_Kiku Honda - first mate_

_Jack Kirkland - second mate_

_Alistair Kirkland - navigator _

_Amelia F. Jones _

_Toris Laurinaitis - cook/surgeon_


	5. Ch 5- Something About Italian Girls

**A/N: GerIta has really grown on me since starting this story. Fem!Italy is just so cute and fun to write. I hope I've made her sufficiently distinct from her male counterpart. I think of most of the nyotalias as being fairly different from their regular characters, except for Romano, really. Romano is an angry little tsundere, no matter how you spin it.  
**

* * *

Ludwig Beilschmidt ran a nervous hand through his perfectly combed blond hair and used the other to attempt to pry a certain auburn-haired Italian girl off of him, with little success. He was a second mate, and he had tasks to do! _Really, if she wasn't so sweet, I wouldn't stand for this_, the young German man thought to himself with a huff.

"Miss Vargas, I promise, I will make sure that the cook picks up some pasta for you when we land in Marseilles, now _please_, let me do my job," he begged. The winds were picking up, and they were in for a storm before they reached France, and he didn't want Captain Carriedo to think that he was neglecting his post.

"I can help!" The small Italian girl chirped helpfully, refusing to relinquish her surprisingly powerful grip on his crisp cobalt uniform. "Let me help, Luddy! Please?" She batted her wide brown eyes at him, and he flushed with irritation at the informality. Not because he was embarrassed that a pretty girl was talking to him like that, of course not. He was a practical man, not to be swayed by charming young ladies with accents.

There was something else about Feliciana, too—she looked strangely familiar, but he knew he would have remembered meeting her before. He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. "Fine," he consented finally, knowing that she wouldn't stop pestering him otherwise. "You can be on look out. Stand right there in front of that window. And don't run around and touch things," he added sternly. It wasn't a real job—they had a navigator after all, and a first mate, but it would keep her busy, hopefully. She let go of his arm eagerly and rushed to the wide, floor-to-ceiling length windows that lined one of the passenger rooms on the first deck. "Wow, Luddy, this sure is something," she said with a sigh, pressing her face up against the window, despite the fact that it was below freezing. "Isn't it wonderful to fly?"

He walked over to join her, making sure he kept an appropriate distance between the two of them. He folded his muscled arms and nodded curtly. "I suppose it is rather lovely, although I wouldn't have chosen to be up here," he reflected. A life of pirating? Certainly not.

She turned to him in confusion. "_Cosa?_ What do you mean?"

"Er—well, I—" He stuttered, faltering under her innocent, but frank gaze. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to really delve into his personal life with this strange girl that he had basically helped kidnap. Why did she seem to like him so much, anyway?! "It's just that, ah, I would have preferred to go into business. This is…not how I thought my life would be. But sometimes beggars can't be choosers," he added, without a note of self-pity. She didn't need to hear his life story, he reasoned. He felt like it would make even someone as jovial as her smile less, and he found himself wanting to avoid that.

"Ve, that's true," she agreed, flashing her wide smile at him again. "I didn't think I'd be here either!" She laughed. "But you and the others aren't so bad. Even _sorella_ admits that you're alright, for pirates."

Ludwig frowned at the mention of her formidable sister's name. She hated him, even more than she seemed to hate the other members of the crew, but he couldn't remember having done anything to her specifically…besides aiding in her capture, of course. He sighed deeply. Now that he thought about it, that was a far more understandable reaction than Feliciana's—er, the other Miss Vargas. She seemed to flock to him, and the other crew members lost no opportunity to tease him about his "little girlfriend", but she seemed either completely oblivious, or she simply didn't care. He massaged his forehead tiredly. Maybe it was best that they were leaving the girls in Marseilles. But he still felt a twinge of regret as he listened to the Italian girl chatter on about her _sorella_ and the places she wanted to see with him in Marseilles.

"So what do you think, Luddy?" She asked, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention.

"_Entschuldigung—_what?" He asked, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I wasn't listening—"

"I said, you'll have to show us around Marseilles! Lovina and I haven't been there since we were little!"

"Oh, _ja_," he agreed awkwardly. So the _Kapitän_ hadn't told them that they were leaving them at Marseilles. Well, he didn't want to have to break it to her—but then, she would be happy, right? Their grandfather would surely come swoop them up as soon as the pirates had left, and she would go on her merry aristocratic life, just as she had before.

"What's the matter?" She asked, tilting her head to the side so that a reddish-brown curl flopped into her eyes. "Luddy?"

"Mr. Beilschmidt!" A voice suddenly barked from the small radio on the table nearest them. "You are needed in the control room immediately, please!" It was Mr. Zwingli, the first mate, and he sounded irritated (as usual).

"I'll see you later, Feli," he said quickly, slipping up on her name without realizing it. But she beamed, and hugged him quickly, to his shock. "Okay! See you at supper, _si_?"

"Er, yes," he said, blushing bright red (_verdammt! _This had to stop!) as he patted her head awkwardly, and dashed out of the room. _Really, Italian girls are too much to handle sometimes_, he thought as he sprinted towards the control room.

"There you are," Vash said as the German arrived, red-faced and out of breath. "You were supposed to report here at fourteen hundred hours." He gave him a severe look. He was only a few years older, but he was even more stern and straitlaced than Ludwig himself. "We're having a crew meeting, or had you forgotten?"

"No sir," Ludwig said fervently, shaking his head. "I was just, ah—"

"Off with your girlfrieeeend," Mathias teased. He smirked up at the two men from his seat next to Antonio, who was thumbing through a stack of maps in his lap. "Not that I blame you, Lud. Italian girls are pretty cute."

"Who are you talking about?" Antonio asked suddenly, looking up quickly with a calculating look in his emerald green eyes. The other men turned to him in surprise.

"Miss Feliciana Vargas, I believe," Vash said dryly, smiling a tiny bit at Ludwig's rosy complexion.

"Ah, how nice," Antonio said absently, the shadow that had crossed his cheerful features for a moment disappearing instantly.

"Good?" Mathias said incredulously, turning to him with a scowl. "So _he's_ allowed to have a woman on the ship, but I can't bring Ingrid along once in awhile—"

"I let her come with us to Newfoundland, and that didn't end well," Antonio remarked with a laugh, completely oblivious to his second mate's discomfort. "Besides, as a general rule, women aren't allowed."

"Double standards," Mathias insisted petulantly.

"I don't want there to be a misunderstanding, _Kapitän_—" Ludwig said desperately, not wanting to give any of them the wrong idea.

"Now, now, _mis amigos_, we'll be in Marseilles soon, so enough bickering," their captain said cheerfully, talking right over Mathias' and Ludwig's arguing. "Anyway, we are running low on food, so Mathias, I'll need you to run some errands for me—"

"That's Tino's job," he complained, folding his toned arms across his chest defiantly and scowling at his captain and friend.

"And Ludwig, I need you to stay on the ship as look out," Antonio continued cheerfully, as if he hadn't heard him. "Word has it that Kirkland has it out for us, and I am counting on you to watch over the ship."

"And the Vargas girls, _Kapitän_?" Vash asked. "They'll be gone after this town, yes?"

"Oh," Antonio said thoughtfully. "Yes…I suppose I _did_ say that we would be leaving them in Marseilles…" He frowned a little. Surely it wasn't a good idea to leave two young Italian ladies by themselves in a French port town that was known for some of its more sordid types. Did they even speak French? He would have to ask Lovi—Miss Vargas, that is.

"Yes, you did," Vash pressed, giving his captain a hard look. "It would be safer for the entire crew if they were gone."

"Right," Antonio agreed, although he sounded unsure. He did owe his protection to his men, after all. It wasn't something a captain took lightly. The sound of the other men quarrelling turned into a dull buzz in his ears, and he found himself gazing out the window absently, trying not to think about how disappointed he would be when the Vargas girls left. He sighed a little. But then—what was that, on the edge of the horizon? It looked like another ship was approaching. But neither Vash nor Mathias had picked up anything on the radio. There weren't supposed to be any ships on this path at this time. Was someone…following them?

Frowning, he dumped the maps on the table and swiftly crossed to the window, peering out into the fading sky. Sure enough, a small but sturdy-looking airship was approaching them. It obviously wasn't a commercial or luxury ship, or he would have known about it from the timetables they had. That meant it was an unauthorized ship, and he didn't want to mess with them just now. No, he just wanted to land in Marseilles, stock up, and leave again so they could stop off in Portugal for a bit of a siesta. This…this was not what he wanted.

"Mathias, how quickly can you get us to Marseilles?" Antonio asked, interrupting them.

The Danish man shrugged his broad shoulders. "Eh, two hours? The winds are good right now, but if you wanted to go a bit faster, I could let out some ballast so she'll rise up a bit. What's the hurry?" He asked jokingly. The navigator never really took anything seriously.

"I think we're being followed," their captain said seriously, causing the other men to fall silent.

"By whom?" Vash said finally, concern creasing his young brow.

"If I had to guess, I would put my money on Arthur Kirkland," he said grimly, his green eyes glinting dangerously.

"Who?" Ludwig asked blankly.

"Ah, you weren't with us when we went up against that English prat last time," Mathias laughed, but even he looked a bit more guarded. "He's just some privateer out for hire, but he is persistent. Almost gave us a run for our money back in Laos," he added, chuckling.

"We have to hurry," Antonio said firmly. "We're not equipped to face them right now, and in a pinch I think _the Victoria_ could out sail us, as she's a smaller ship. Let's get some altitude, and we'll see if we can still make Marseilles. If not, we'll have to go on stricter rations until we get to Portugal."

"Yes, sir," the three men said, saluting smartly. No one messed with Antonio when he was in full captain mode.

"Good," he said briskly. "I'll be in my quarters. Mathias, come with me, we need to map out a secondary path. Vash, I want you to prepare the weaponry, just in case. Ludwig, you take watch at the stern. Someone needs to radio Tino and Heracles as well, since they're on watch." He sighed, massaging his temples. This just became a lot more complicated.

He tuned out the remaining discussion of his men and stormed to his quarters, feeling more and more agitated with each step.

"Don't worry too much, we got out of that last scrape alright," Mathias said bracingly to the shorter man, who looked unusually serious. "You can handle that _k'lling_."

"I'm sure you're right," Antonio said with forced jauntiness. "But it's best to be prepared, right? After all—"

"Oh, there you are, Herc," Mathias said cheerfully. The Greek man turned to face them, nodding. He was standing in the middle of the corridor talking to the angry Vargas, Mathias always got them mixed up, but it was definitely the angry one. When she saw him, a huge scowl stole across her face. "We'd better leave, Cap," he joked to Antonio, who had brightened considerably all of a sudden. "I don't think our darling passenger appreciates the interruption."

Antonio turned his head very slowly to stare at Mathias with a sudden intensity. "What do you mean?" He asked brightly, but something abruptly changed in his bright green eyes.

"Oh, I always seem to catch these two together. Isn't that right, Feliciana?" The Dane laughed loudly, oblivious to the dark aura that seemed to emanate from his captain.

"Is that true?" He asked, still in that unnaturally cheery voice.

"What?" Lovina said crossly. "My name is Lovina, not Feliciana, _idiota_. Heracles has been showing me around the ship."

Antonio crossed over to her very quickly and grabbed her hands, holding them to his chest. "No, I mean, are you seeing each other? This pirate?" He demanded.

"What?" Lovina spluttered again, her face going bright red. "What the hell are you talking about? Heracles is the only halfway decent person on the ship, but he's not my fucking fiancé or something! What the hell are you on? And who said you could touch me?"

"You're a pirate too," Heracles said peaceably, looking as unperturbed as ever. Only a ghost of a smirk betrayed the amusement he felt at watching his captain's jealousy.

"Thank God," Antonio sighed. "You shouldn't date pirates, Lovi! They're dangerous types, you understand?"

"Are you drunk or something?" She demanded rudely.

"I would hate for something bad to happen to you," he said sincerely, all traces of jealousy vanishing, to be replaced by genuine concern. "You're a very spirited young lady, and I could not forgive myself if you got hurt." He smiled.

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open as she tried to formulate a response. "Um…" She felt her face get even hotter than before, but his words sent her reeling. _Who says shit like that?!_ She thought, mortified and also a tiny—_very_ tiny—bit flattered. "I…" She said uncertainly. He still held her hands to his chest, and she could feel the heat seeping in through the thin layers of Tino's shirt that she had reluctantly borrowed. And he was still looking at her like that, with that stupid look in his stupid eyes! She felt Heracles brush by her, taking Mathias with him, and she could have sworn she heard him chuckle to himself, as if pleased.

Antonio studied her face for a moment and laughed. "You know, you're really cute when you blush like that!"

That was enough to make her snap out of it. "Don't patronize me!" She yelled, slapping his hands away. "Damn, you're just as bad as that stupid Dane!"

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, but his wide grin said otherwise. "I couldn't help myself! You look like a little tomato!"

"Don't COMPARE me to a FUCKING FRUIT!" She huffed angrily, about to storm off, but just then, something rocked the airship, and she stumbled forward.

"Ah, shit," he said, helping her steady herself. Gone was the handsome, joking man from a moment ago. "Lovina, take your sister and go to your cabin, okay? Bolt the door, and don't answer it until one of the crew comes to fetch you."

"What just happened?" She demanded, catching his sleeve as he turned to go. "Hey, bastard! Don't walk away from me!"

"Go!" He ordered, and for a minute she saw the man that had effortlessly taken over her grandfather's ship, not the easygoing man she had come to know over the past few days. "Go now!"

Startled, she gave him a final hard stare before running off to find her sister. _What the hell is happening?_ She wondered.

* * *

_Translations_

_Italian-_

_Cosa: What? _

_Sorella: Sister_

_German-_

_Entschuldigung: I'm sorry, excuse me_

_Verdammt: dammit! (colloquial)_

_Spanish:_

_Mis amigos: my friends (yeah, Spain isn't one to stand on ceremony. These guys are his bros. England, on the other hand, tends to refer to even his BFF Japan with 'Mr.'_

_Danish:_

_K'lling: I'm not going to translate it ;) Suffice to say it is not a nice word._

_*Ingrid: fem!Norway. I really love Den/fem!Nor. Regular DenNor is okay, but I don't think Denmark is gay. Sweden, on the other hand...  
_

_Finland - Tino Vainemainen _

_The great Doitsu god will bless your harvest and shower wurst and beer upon you if you leave me helpful reviews ~_


	6. Ch 6-Showdown

**A/N: No notes this time c: Please R&R!**

* * *

"MISS JONES! I TOLD YOU EXPLICITLY TO STAY AWAY FROM THE CANNONS!" Captain Kirkland yelled. That loud noise that he had just heard…it was _their doing._

Amelia Jones leaned back from her position at the stern porthole, where the large cannon currently poked out through the hull. Her face was slightly darkened with soot, but it didn't dim the excitement that brimmed in her bright eyes, hidden behind safety goggles. "Jack was helping me practice," she said cheerfully. She looked almost owl-like, with the oversized lenses and her fair hair sticking out in different directions like feathers.

"Mr. Kirkland," Arthur said, glaring at his cheerful Australian second mate. "Is this true?"

His cousin saluted him with a grin, his verdant eyes betraying no sign of guilt. "Aye, sir! She said she had some experience in the army, so I thought I'd let her show me what she knows. Of course, cannons work rather differently on airships than they do in the army, but—"

"She is not a part of this crew," Arthur bit out angrily, shooting her a look, which she pretended not to see. "And she is _wasting ammo._ And where is Mr. Honda? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on you!"

"Kiku has a job," the American said with a shrug. "He doesn't need to be looking after me. I'm twenty years old!"

"That is not for you to decide," he replied tartly, taking her by the arm and pulling her up from her position by the cannon. "You, come with me. Mr. Kirkland, please ready the cannons for boarding. Target practice is over."

"Aw, Artie," she complained as he led her away. "Come on, you've got to let me do _something_. I feel like I'm a burden here." She stuck out her lower lip petulantly, but he didn't see because he was too busy leading her away from the cannons. He dropped the sleeve of her bomber jacket and crossed over to the broad glass panes that created the windows of her favorite room on the ship, the radio room. It was small and a little cramped, but the view was spectacular. At the bottom of the ship, one could easily look out the window and straight down, without the view being obstructed by the rest of the _Victoria_. If Amelia leaned forward against the glass, she could almost pretend that she was standing on nothing. It was exhilarating, but also terrifying. She loved it.

Arthur Kirkland sighed deeply, something he did a lot around her, she noticed. "Captain," he corrected, looking very tired. "It's Captain Kirkland."

"Right," she agreed, walking over to where he stood, looking out the window thoughtfully. Despite his slight stature, he looked rather regal in his fitted navy blue waistcoat and high-waisted trousers. Not conventionally strong or intimidating, but those dark eyes showed a powerful mind, and there was something about him that drew her to him, a hunger for adventure that she knew all too well.

"Take this," he said suddenly, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small rosewood-handled Remington derringer. He held it out to her.

She accepted it, confused. "Um, thank you." She looked at him questioningly.

"We're tailing Carriedo's ship right now," he said seriously, "and I want you to be prepared in case you are threatened. That knife of yours won't be much use in a gun fight."

"I have a shotgun too—wait, you're going to let me board with you?" She asked excitedly, hopping a little. She couldn't help it, she hadn't seen any action in weeks! "You won't regret it! I—"

"No," he interrupted her, shaking his messy blond hair. She thought she almost saw him smile at her antics, but it was replaced by his customary scowl immediately. "No, you're going to stay on the ship. I wouldn't think of letting a lady accompany us. This is simply a precaution."

She inspected the pistol and then looked at him, tilting her head to the side. "You know, I'll find a way to get onto that ship," she said coyly. "I've done it before."

Gritting his teeth, he said evenly, "Miss Jones, may I remind you that as a _passenger_ on this ship, you are under my command?" They were almost standing toe to toe now. She could see every detail on his face, from the very faint blond stubble on his chin to the slope of his sharp nose to those tragically thick eyebrows. They were kind of ridiculous, really, but they added character, she decided.

She grinned, rising to the challenge. "Is that so, Captain?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Yes," he said tersely. She didn't notice the dangerous glint in his eyes, or she might have stopped. But then, Amelia never knew when to stop pushing people.

"Or what?" She asked loftily, the words barely leaving her lips.

For a moment, she felt a brief pang of trepidation when she saw the resolve harden in his eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth, not so gently pushing her against the cold window. Her eyes widened in shock as she felt his hot hands at her waist, holding her firmly in place as he deepened the kiss before pulling away, panting slightly.

"I—I'm sorry," he said, his face darkening. "I shouldn't have done that." But her startled, open mouthed expression was so cute, he couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction. Well, he'd finally left _her_ speechless for once! And really, he had wanted to do that since he first met her. And the way her face flushed and she couldn't look at him for a moment made it seem that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. It was bad enough that they were sharing sleeping quarters...he definitely couldn't think about that right now! "I have to go. We'll be nearing the ship soon," he said, slipping back into his role as captain. "You stay out of it, understand?"

"Arthur," she began seriously, her blue eyes boring into his, "I'm not going to do that. I—"

The sound of a cannon going off startled them both, and Arthur tore his gaze away from her to look out the window. "What in the Queen's name—" He began, shocked. "Was that one of our cannons?" He wondered to himself. Surely not. Except for Amelia of course, no one would waste precious cannon fodder. And anyway, they weren't within firing range of the _Santa Maria_, so…

Where had that sound come from? Arthur felt his blood run cold. Someone had shot at them, then. That was the only possibility.

"Arthur, look!" Amelia cried, pointing at a huge shadow behind a cluster of thick, dark clouds. It was impossibly huge, too large to be a rain cloud or something else. Somehow, another ship had snuck up on them. It emerged from the clouds like a kraken from the sea, the largest airship Arthur had seen in his entire career—it was nearly three times the size of his precious _Victoria_, and armed to the teeth. He couldn't make out the markings on the side of the massive hull, they were in some strange language—Greek maybe, or Russian. "What the hell is that?"

He didn't even chastise her for not speaking like a lady. "I don't know, but this is very, very bad," he said, shaking his head as he tried to figure out who or what was possibly attacking them. Pirate airships simply did not come in that size—they were far too bulky and couldn't get away in a quick escape, a huge drawback in pirating. So what…then he saw it. The stern turned to face their ship, so that the boldly painted blue, red, and white tricolor of the Russian Federation became visible. So the rumors were true. The Russian Empire was on the move again, and not just on land. "Fuck!" He yelled. "They're heading directly for us!"

Grabbing her by the wrist, he ran up the cramped staircase to the second deck, nearly colliding with Alistair, who for once looked somber. "Captain," his brother said, "that cannon, we don't know where it came from, Mr. Honda is trying to figure it out—"

"It's some bloody military vessel from Russia," Arthur said, the blood pounding in his ears. "And it's heading directly for us! We need to reroute immediately! I don't care what you have to do! Avert our course! NOW!" He yelled.

"Aye," Alistair said, saluting smartly.

He crossed over quickly to the telephone that linked the control room to the gunnery, where his second mate was. "Jack, we're under attack. I want you to fire at that giant airship as soon as you have a clear shot," he ordered. "I'm going to assess the damage now. Did we sustain a hit?"

"Mr. Honda says no," the Australian replied. "But it did scrape the hull. I can't believe we didn't see them!"

"I know," he groaned. "I apologize, Jack, I should have seen it—"

"Not at all, Captain," his cousin said firmly. "I'll take out those damn Ruskies, don't you worry sir!"

"I'll go find Kiku," Amelia said helpfully. Arthur didn't acknowledge her but continued talking to his second mate, calmly but quickly giving orders. He was a good man to have in a fight, she realized as she ran to the radio room, where the slight Japanese man stood, a handful of maps spread out before him.

"Kiku," she began breathlessly, "what do we do?"

"You have a pistol?" He asked her abruptly, looking up sharply from his maps.

"Yes, Arthur gave me one—"

"Good," he said. "You're going to need it."

* * *

"We're under fire!" Antonio yelled into the radio bolted into the wall. "Vash, take us down! I don't care where! You need to get the ship on the ground, _ahora_!"

"Aye, _Kapitän_!" The Swiss man said smartly.

Antonio looked out the window where the large airship loomed ominously, but it didn't seem to be headed for them. Instead, it was headed for—holy Mary, that was Kirkland's _Victoria!_ Where did she come from? "_Ay, Dios mio_," the Spaniard said grimly. "We're in the middle of a fire fight, and we aren't equipped at all." He turned to his second mate, Ludwig.

"Go let off some of the ballast," he said. "You're the strongest man here. I don't care what you have to get rid of. Wine, flour, ammo, everything goes. Even water."

Ludwig's eyes widened in shock. _Nobody_ threw out fresh water. The situation was much worse than he realized. "Yes, sir," he said, not arguing. After all, his captain had been flying for years, and even if he was a bit absent minded sometimes, the German trusted him with his life. And Feli's, he thought with concern. Where were the Italian girls, anyway?

"Sir, I—" He began.

"What?" Antonio snapped, looking up from the revolver that he was polishing. "Didn't I tell you to get rid of the ballast?"

"Yes, sir, you did, I just wanted to make sure, the, ahm, Vargases—"

"They're in their quarters," Antonio said, his expression softening a fraction. "Don't you worry, Ludwig. Now go. We have to make up for lost time."

The younger man nodded and went off, reassured.

"I'll take you both on, bastards," the Spaniard muttered to himself, wiping down his favorite gun. "Nobody messes with my ship, dammit!"

He glanced out the window and saw that indeed, they were rising at a reasonable rate, but not nearly quickly enough. They were still on the same plane as the mysterious ship and Kirkland's _Victoria_, and that simply wouldn't do. He would not risk injuring his crew, or Lovina and her sister. His heart tightened unexpectedly. No, that would not happen, not while he was in charge.

He heard the muffled boom of a cannon outside his window. Someone had returned fire, but it wasn't their ship—two of their five cannons on the port side were malfunctioning, and the other three had very limited ammunition. Heracles wouldn't fire unless he had a guaranteed shot, and given how huge the enemy airship was, one small cannon ball wouldn't do much damage, anyway. It was either the _Victoria_ or—he pocketed his pistol and went to the large bay windows and peered out at the giant airship that loomed slightly above them. _Who are you_? He wondered, his dark eyebrows furrowing in quiet fury. He heard another violent crash and saw, to his shock, that the new ship had just fired a possibly fatal shot at Kirkland's ship, plowing right into the heart of the _Victoria_. He didn't like the Englishman, but he winced, knowing how he would feel if that had been his darling ship getting torn apart like that. Predictably, the Englishman followed up with a volley of shots that only peppered the hull of the monstrosity, barely impacting it at all. The size difference alone made it suicidal for Kirkland to try to take on his opponent. At least they weren't firing at the _Santa Maria _ right now—no sooner had he thought that than his eyes landed on a deceptively small cannon situated on the port side of the other ship, precisely on level with the giant helium-filled balloon that held up his own ship. He saw smoke start to leak from its black snout and thought, _No!_ but it was too late. It fired directly into the gas-filled bag and he could hear a mighty hiss as the precious gas began to leak out.

They were going to crash. They were just over the coast of France now. If they landed in the water, they might not be close enough to make it to shore. Forcing himself not to panic, he ran to the top deck, where Mathias was climbing the steel ladder attached to the balloon, with a frantic Tino yelling at him below. The top deck was buffeted by powerful winds, but the high guard rails that framed the top deck prevented the men from being blown off. Still, the massive balloon that hovered over them began to move with the wind as it shrank in size.

"Mathias, get down from there! You can't patch it!" Tino cried desperately, his strangely violet eyes huge with worry. The Danish man paid him no mind as he climbed up the ladder, trying to reach the hole. It was only a few feet in diameter, but it was enough. Already, Antonio could feel the ship sinking rapidly—his ears kept popping and unpopping, and it was _freezing_ up here.

"Mathias Kǿhler, get off of there!" Their captain belted. "There's nothing you can do! We're going to have to make an emergency landing!"

"I can fix it, 'Tonio! I'm almost close enough!" He replied, yelling to be heard above the winds. He made it to the last step of the ladder, clinging to it. He was well above the level of the guard rails by now, but he was also close enough to reach the balloon. Almost. The gash was just out of reach, just close enough to tease him. The blond reached out a long arm to try to grab a bit of the torn fabric, but a change in wind forced him to retract and cling to the ladder. He began to shake with cold, and a little bit of fright. He hadn't realized just how far he was from the _Santa Maria_. Antonio and Tino looked very tiny from where he stood. He forced himself to take a deep breath as he reached out for the torn fabric again, but just then, the ship shifted suddenly, and he felt his left foot slip, and he came crashing down.

* * *

"Fuck!" Arthur Kirkland yelled again, as a cannon ball came sailing through the air. It tore through the heart of the ship, probably taking out some of the walls in the crews' quarters. "I'm sorry, love," he said to the ship.

"Fuck!" Alistair shouted, his Scottish accent becoming even thicker. "Fuck these Russian bastards! I'll make them wish they had never been born! _Mess with my ship, will you?"_

"She's not your bloody ship!" Arthur yelled. "What are you doing? Give over!" He shoved his brother away from the helm, but it did not move, despite him pouring all of his strength into turning the spokes of the wheel. "The hell? Alistair, it's stuck!"

"That's what I was trying to tell you, laddie!" The Scot exclaimed. "They've messed with the rudder! We've lost power steering!"

Arthur growled something darkly, and went to the radio to get Jack. "Jack! What are you doing in there? Take out their cannons!"

"I'm doing my best," Jack said defensively. "They have thirty-six cannons on this side, for Christ's sake!"

"Fine, fine, just keep it up—" Suddenly, the firing on their ship stopped, and Arthur couldn't figure out why, until he saw—they had acquired a new target. The _Santa Maria_, Carriedo's ship. "Mother of God, can this get any worse?" He muttered to himself. To his shock, he saw a cannon ball go sailing through the air and rip through the balloon of the Spaniard's ship, fatally wounding it. "They're going down," he realized. Was his enemy really going to die like that, in front of his eyes? Crash into the ocean and be out of his life just like that?

It certainly seemed like it. The beautiful airship began to sink at an alarming rate, but it hadn't caught fire—they must have filled her with helium instead of hydrogen. It certainly explained why she was flying so much higher than the other two ships; helium was much lighter, but also much more expensive, to pump into the balloon. But then, he thought seethingly, pirates weren't really lacking in the financial department. Still, he didn't want to see his old adversary go like that. And he himself sure as hell wasn't going to lose to these new Russian villains.

He stumbled a bit as he felt the _Victoria _shift and move forward slowly—she was going directly underneath the Russian airship now, so they couldn't attack them—unless of course, they had cannons lining the hull underneath the massive ship, which he doubted. It also left the lower car of the Russian ship, which was largely unprotected, vulnerable to their cannons. To his satisfaction, he heard the boom of the cannons, and saw several of their shots shatter the glass of what must have been their control car. Smoke poured out, and the firing stopped momentarily.

"Good man, Jack!" Arthur cried aloud.

"Let me try it again," Alistair said roughly, taking back the helm. With a grunt, he threw his whole body weight against it, the giant muscles in his pale forearms straining, and it finally gave, reluctantly. "The rudder's badly damaged," he informed his captain, who groaned. "But I can manage it. We'll have to land, though."

"Fine, fine," Arthur said dismissively. "Just get us out of here." To his relief, he saw that the Russian ship had given up on them, finally, and appeared to be gaining altitude so as to avoid the other two ships. "That's right, you'd better leave, you bloody cowards! You think you can just mess with one of Her Majesty's ships! I'll find you, you son of a bitch!" He yelled, pounding on the glass of window as he watched the ship vanish into the clouds almost as quickly as it had appeared, still smoking slightly. "I will find you, you hear? You haven't heard the last of Arthur Kirkland!"

"Calm down, laddie," Alistair said, laying a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Why don't ye go check on the ship now, hm?"

"Right," he agreed, his green eyes sparking dangerously. So help those pirates if one of his crew had been hurt. No, he wouldn't even think about it. He went to the radio and tapped into the speaker system throughout the ship. "Everyone, report to the galley immediately. We're going to be landing in Marseilles soon."

Soon, his small crew had gathered in the cramped but tidy galley, looking more than a little shell shocked as they gathered around the dinner table.

"Good, everyone is here," Arthur said, sighing with relief, sinking into a chair at the head of the table. "Mr. Honda. What is the condition of the ship?"

"We sustained blows to the radio room, the second deck meeting room, several of the crew cabins, lost two cannons, and the rudder has been badly damaged," he said quickly, reeling off the injuries without a trace of panic. "If we land within the next few hours, however, we should be alright. Nothing is beyond repair, although it won't be cheap."

"That's better than that poor Spanish bastard," Arthur said, shaking his head ruefully. "Mr. Kirkland. How many hits did you land on that enemy ship?"

"I think we may have taken out as many as six of their portholes where the cannons were, and we destroyed the control car," the Australian answered with a triumphant grin and a thumbs up. "They hurt us pretty badly, but we managed to piss them off!"

"Good," he said, nodding curtly. He ran his eyes over his crew. Kiku was as stalwart as ever, though he looked a bit shaken. Alistair had been serious before, but now that his beloved helm was working again, the Scot was back to his smart aleck self. Jack looked a bit insane, with his brown hair flying every which way, and his face covered in soot from the cannons, but his eccentric cousin looked no worse for wear than the rest. Amelia was shaking a bit with adrenaline, but she too looked fine. She had clearly been with Jack, even though he had explicitly told her not to be around the guns, because she was wearing the safety goggles on her head, leaving little white circles around those owl eyes of hers in her otherwise black face. She gave him a big grin, making him quickly look away. Toris, their quiet, cheerful cook, was the only one to look really disturbed. In fact, he looked almost paralyzed with fear, nearly white under the black gunpowder from the cannons.

"Mr. Laurinaitis?" The Brit asked, eyeing the Lithuanian man with concern. "Are you alright? Did you get injured while you were in the gunnery?"

"No, sir," he said quietly. "It's just…that ship. I've seen it before."

"You have? Who the hell are they?"

"It's General Braginski," he said, his thin face drawn tight with anxiety. "The Russian Federation is on the move again."

* * *

_So I mentioned in Ch. 1 something about the Russian Empire/Federation starting to invade neighboring countries in eastern Europe. It seems it's only getting worse. What are you up to Ivan, hmm?_

_Oh, and just a refresher on some ship anatomy (at least for naval ships): the hull is the bottom portion of the ship, the keel is the line that runs along the bottom portion of a ship, the rudder is what steers it (controlled by the helm), portholes are windows, and airships aren't typically armed with cannons...actually, not ever, that I've seen, so I modified it...I had them put cannons through the openings in the portholes (windows)._

_And yeah, if the Santa Maria had had a hydrogen balloon like most airships, it would have exploded, because hydrogen is highly flammable. But helium isn't, thank goodness!_

_The two crews will finally meet up in the next chapter! I hope switching between POVS wasn't too confusing. _

_Spanish_

_Ahora - now_

_Ay, Dios mio - oh my God_

_German_

_Kapitaen - captain_


	7. Ch 7- Marseilles

**A/N: Sorry for switching between ships so often :c**

* * *

Huddled in a tiny room on a pirate ship clutching her twin sister as they fell through the sky was not how Lovina Vargas had pictured her death. She had kind of hoped that she would die at a ripe old age after eating a fantastic dinner with her family, seeing that her sister was taken care of, and maybe with some old bastard that she could stand enough to marry, and they could die in their sleep together or something predictable. But this—this was not right. They wouldn't even have their last rites!*

"I wish we were back in Italy," Feli said unhappily, practically curled into a ball in her twin's lap as they huddled in the corner of their small room. "I hate this, Lovi."

"I know," Lovina said helplessly, but she squeezed her a bit, trying to calm her down. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?"

"Lovi, I don't think you can do anything about it," Feli sniffled, looking at her sister with her ridiculous doe eyes. "Ah, I didn't even get to see good-bye to Luddy—"

"Don't you worry about that potato bastard," she said gruffly, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure he's fine. He's tough."

"I hope you're right, _sorella_," her twin said, throwing her arms around her sister's neck. "You know I love you, right Lovi?"

"Don't be stupid," Lovi said, flushing with irritation. "You act like we're gonna die or something." She huffed in frustration when Feli gave her that stupid puppy-dog look again. "I love you too," she grumbled, ignoring the squeal that followed.

Both girls gave a startled shout as they felt the ship suddenly drop in altitude, and they held tightly onto each other, wincing as their ears popped. Lovi didn't know what was happening, but they'd probably been hit by that other pirate bastard that Toni said had been following them. _I hope that bastard hasn't done anything stupid_, she thought, biting her lip in concern. Then she felt the ship dip again, so dramatically that she felt physically sick. "Agh," she groaned, holding her sister tightly. "Ugh, I…I can't do this—" She saw giant dark spots flood her vision and tried to fight it, but her brain shut down, and she slumped forward against Feli's back.

"Lovi?" Feli squeaked. "Lovi, are you okay?" She twisted around to look at her sister, but she was unconscious. "Ugh, my stomach…" She felt physically sick and almost blacked out as well, but then the ship hit something so powerfully hard, she flew several feet out of her sister's lap and crashed onto the hard metal floor. "Oh…" She moaned.

Then the door to their cabin opened with a loud bang, and she looked up and saw to her relief that Ludwig was standing there, looking around frantically for them. When his eyes landed on her, he gave an exclamation of joy and ran over to her and knelt down next to her, hugging her tightly. "Thank _Gott_," he breathed into her chestnut hair. "I thought that the impact might have killed you."

"No, I'm fine, but my _sorella_ passed out," she said, muffled by the fabric of his blue uniform. He still didn't let go. "I'm worried about her, ve! Can you carry her?"

"_Ja_," he affirmed, releasing her at last. He bent down and picked up the older Italian twin easily, secretly hoping that she would remain unconscious, at least until he wasn't touching her anymore. He could only imagine her reaction. "Come on now, we have to get to the life rafts. The ship is badly damaged."

"Okay!" She agreed, reassured now that Ludwig was here. "I'll follow you!"

The three made their way to the port of the ship, where the other crew members waited impatiently.

"_Scheisse_, what happened?" Ludwig exclaimed upon seeing an unconscious Mathias propped up between Tino and Antonio. He had a giant gash on his forehead, one of his arms was bent at an unnatural angle, and from his labored breathing, something was probably wrong with his chest too.

"This idiot tried repairing the tear in the balloon," Tino replied, his violet eyes furious. Ludwig had never seen the Finn look so angry. "And now, he's probably broken a few ribs!"

"At least he's alive," Vash said somberly. The first mate, although a bit shaken, looked fairly composed. He looked around at the crew and nodded. Everyone was present. "Alright, Captain, that's everyone."

"Everyone get in the life rafts," Antonio ordered. "Heracles, come help Tino carry Mathias down to the gangway."

The dark-haired man nodded and went to help his friends down to the rafts.

Antonio turned to Ludwig, who still held the unconscious girl in his arms. "What happened to her?" He demanded, his verdant eyes huge with worry. "She's not concussed, is she?"

The younger man shook his head. "_Nein_, I don't think so. Feli said—"

"Ve, she passed out when the ship went down," Feliciana told the pirate captain, wringing her hands anxiously. "Do you think she'll be alright?"

"I'm sure she will be," he replied with a tight smile, but he looked afraid. "She's a tough girl, your sister. But we don't have time to waste. Get down to the boats, _si_?"

They both nodded obediently and left.

Antonio was the last to leave his beloved _Santa Maria_. At the speed with which she entered the water, there was almost no chance of her making it. His darling ship and favorite companion would not survive the journey, it seemed. Not to mention the wealth they had acquired—all gone. He ran down the gangway and boarded the last small boat, unable to look away from the majestic airship that sat awkwardly on the Mediterranean, until he heard a light moan from beside him.

Lovina lay on a bench across from him, her head in her sister's lap. She began to stir, groaning a little. With a last forlorn look at his ship, he looked over to see how she was.

"_Sorella_?" Feliciana exclaimed, leaning over her sister eagerly. "Are you alright?" She smoothed away the damp curls from her twin's forehead.

"Nnng," Lovi moaned, cracking her eyes opened. Feli's face was literally inches from her own. "Don't you know anything about personal space?" She grumbled, but added, "You better not have hurt yourself."

"Ve, I'm okay," Feli chirped, smiling warmly. "I was worried about you!"

Lovi blinked and then sat up sharply, despite the fact that her head spun. "Wait, where is everyone? Are we still on the ship?" The sudden motion made her sick, but she had to know where An—where the others were. So they could get away from the pirates, of course. Now was their chance!

"Lovina?" She turned to find herself looking into a pair of very intense eyes.

"Gah!" She yelped, scrambling away from Antonio and her sister. "Doesn't anyone here know anything about _space_? God! I can't believe I was worried about you, bastard." The second the words left her mouth, she felt her face heat up, and she briefly considered throwing herself out of the rowboat and taking her chances swimming to shore.

"You were worried?" The captain cried, his face lighting up like a child's on Christmas. Despite her edging further away from him, he eagerly knelt in front of her and clasped her hands, looking up into her face adoringly. "Ah, you've made me so happy, _mi cariña_. But everyone made it off the ship safely." He paused, looking behind her to gaze at the _Santa Maria. _Already, the water had reached the first deck, slowly consuming his beloved vessel. Lovina stared at him strangely for a moment, taking note of the pain that crossed his usually cheerful features.

"Although," he continued, his face darkening, "I won't forgive the person that did this. That destroyed my ship. And hurt my friends." His eyes flashed to her face again with such emotion that she had to look away. "Did you hit your head?" He asked, reaching up to feel the back of her head.

"N-no," she stammered, slapping his hand away. "I just felt sick and blacked out. That's all." She wished he would stop looking at her like that. It made her uncomfortable, dammit. And it was bitingly cold out here on the open sea, with the breeze blowing mist off of the water onto them. She was tired of it already. She could see the outline of France on the horizon, but it was too far for her liking.

"We'll have you checked out when we get to shore," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "Along with the others." He sighed, thinking of his headstrong navigator. The Spaniard looked to the sky, and saw that the enemy airship seemed to be leaving Kirkland's ship. "He'll have to land in Marseilles now," Antonio said regretfully, referring to his nemesis. "But we can't help that now. We have to get to safety." He surveyed his tired crew, scattered in three different life boats, and felt his heart clench with anger again. He had failed them. His crew was injured, and his ship was gone. _A good captain goes down with his ship_, he thought bitterly, _but here I am_.

"Hey," Lovina said, tugging on the collar of his coat to get his attention. She ignored the surprised look Feli gave her as she said, blushing, "It's not your fault."

"What?" He said, giving her a puzzled look. He looked remarkably young then, and she realized they couldn't have been more than a few years apart.

"It's not your fault that the ship crashed," she continued, unusually serious. "You're a good captain, and you did everything you could." With that, she went and snuggled up next to her sister. "Now, I'm taking a nap, because my head hurts, and if anyone touches me, I will hurt them them." She flung her coat over her head so she wouldn't have to look at Antonio's incredulous face.

Antonio looked at Feli in wonder, but she only shrugged, as if to say that even she didn't understand Lovina sometimes. Nevertheless, her words made him feel a little bit better. With that, he picked up the oars from under the two benches, and began to follow the other life rafts to Marseilles.

* * *

The _Victoria_ descended on the French port city of Marseilles with less than her usual grace. Smoke had begun to pour out of the hole in the crews' quarters, and she looked pretty battered overall from her recent fight. Still, she made it to the Marseilles Aerodrome without too much trouble. Floating down into the large building like a leaf, Arthur finally breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she was safe, he could look after his next problem: finding Carriedo.

He reluctantly left his darling ship in the care of the French workers, whom he distrusted instantly, but he knew that the repairs would take at least a few days, so…

"Mr. Honda," he snapped to his first mate.

"Here, Captain," Kiku said calmly. The two men watched the airship swarm with workers from their position on the top level of the aerodrome. He wondered briefly how expensive this little adventure would cost, but one look at the Brit's face told him that his friend would pay whatever price to fly again. "Do you want to find lodgings for tonight, or—"

"I want to catch that pirate," Arthur said determinedly, his famous eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes, Captain, but perhaps—"

"You take the rest of the crew and find somewhere to stay. I'm going to do some investigating."

Kiku sighed deeply. Arthur was in one of his moods. The injury to his ship had wounded his pride, and he obviously intended to take that out on his old enemy. "Very well. What do you intend to do?"

The Englishman turned to his friend with a grim smile and said, "I'm going to go to the police first and do some questioning. I'll meet you this evening, and then tomorrow perhaps we can do some investigating in some of the…other areas of town." He didn't really want to have to deal with pirates, but he would have to in order to gain some information. Surely it wouldn't be hard to find an infamous pirate and his crew, stranded in the city.

He looked around the aerodrome and spotted Jack, Alistair, Toris, and Amelia heading towards them. Each of them carried a suitcase or crate of perishable food for their stay. "Take them to the Sergeant at Waterloo Inn. That's reasonably priced, and there should be enough rooms for all of you," Arthur instructed his first mate, who nodded.

"Where ye goin', then?" Alistair inquired, dumping his own large suitcase a little too close to Arthur's feet.

He scowled at his brother. "Never you mind, git."

"Can we come?" Amelia piped up. She looked delightfully windswept from the day's adventures, but Arthur didn't comment. He thought it better to ignore her for now, until he could figure out his feelings towards her.

"No," Arthur said sharply. "I'm just going to the police station, and I don't want any company. You lot go with Mr. Honda."

His crew deflated noticeably, and he sighed deeply. Honestly, they were like a bunch of children sometimes.

"Alright, Captain," Jack assented amiably. "But if you're not back for supper, we're coming to find you!" He grinned widely, but Arthur took the threat seriously. The Australian, like his Scottish cousin, had little sense of decorum and would not hesitate to drag Arthur away from the middle of his investigations if he deemed it necessary.

"Er, right," Arthur agreed. "See you at supper, then."

It took about an hour to get to the Marseilles police center, and when he did, Arthur was very disgruntled. It was nearly five o'clock, and he didn't want to waste time. He walked up to the handsome law enforcement building and made his way inside, hoping that someone there spoke English. He actually spoke French fluently, but he rather disliked the language. French people in general annoyed him.

"Pardon me, _mademoiselle_," he said to the secretary, a pretty brunette in her twenties, "but where can I find the police inspector, or whomever is in charge here?"

"_Quoi? Je ne parle pas anglais_," she said apologetically.

Arthur sighed deeply, and asked again in French.

"Ah," she said, brightening. "You can find him just through those doors!" She indicated a hallway that led to a pair of ornately decorated Baroque doors. Arthur sniffed. A little elaborate for a police station, he thought to himself. Someone in there had very flamboyant taste.

He had no idea.

"_Accueil, monsieur! Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider_?" As soon as he walked in, he was greeted by the sight of a very handsome blond man sitting behind a giant walnut desk, looking dashing in the midnight blue uniform of the Marseilles police. "Ah, an Englishman?" He asked in surprise, switching to Arthur's native language.

"How did you know?" Arthur asked, puzzled, as he went to sit down in front of the desk. He hadn't even said anything.

"The way you dress, _mon cher_," the man replied, looking grave. "But it cannot be helped, I suppose. I am Inspector Francis Bonnefoy, _à votre service_! How may I assist you today?" Was it just Arthur's imagination, or did he just wink at him? And did he put the slightest emphasis on _assist_?

"Erm," Arthur said uncomfortably, "yes. My name is Captain Arthur Kirkland, and I am a privateer for the British Empire. I happen to be looking for this man. I have reason to believe that he may be in this city." He pulled out a wanted poster of Carriedo from his overcoat and handed it to the police inspector.

Something shifted in the police inspector's clear blue eyes as he examined the poster. "Ah, Carriedo," he said thoughtfully, stroking his goatee. "Yes, a very dangerous pirate, to be sure." He handed the poster back to Arthur without further comment.

"That's all you have to say?" Arthur exclaimed. He didn't mean to be rude, but he didn't just spend an hour searching this stupid French city for someone to talk to after having his ship ransacked by some Russian imperialists!

"_Je suis désolé_, but I do not believe that this man has made it to our city. I have no idea where he might be," he said with a shrug.

Arthur stared at him hard for a moment. _He's lying_, he realized. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. "I see," he said evenly, waiting. Maybe the silence would make it uncomfortable enough for him to slip up.

Bonnefoy stared right back at him, a tiny smirk playing about his lips. "So how long are you in town for, then?"

"I—what?" Arthur spluttered.

"A handsome man like yourself," the French man continued. "Maybe if you're not too busy privateering, I could show you around the city later tonight, hmm?"

Arthur jumped up from his seat then. "I think not! Thank you for your time, sir," he said bitingly. "You have been _most _unhelpful." He spun on his heel and marched towards the door, only to have it fly open before his hand reached the door knob.

"Inspector, it's Toni! He's in town!" A boisterous albino cried in a thick German accent, shouldering past Arthur without a trace of concern. "He's alright!"

"Mr. Beilschmidt," Bonnefoy said through gritted teeth.

Arthur looked from the oblivious white-haired man to the police inspector, who looked very pained, and connected the dots. Toni…Antonio…Carriedo? Could it be the same one? "You don't mean Carriedo by any chance, do you?" He purred, looking extremely pleased. He was willing to overlook the albino's rude behavior if it meant finding out about his nemesis.

"What? Who is this?" The other man said impatiently, noticing Arthur for the first time.

"Captain _Kirkland_," Bonnefoy said with emphasis, looking at his friend meaningfully. "And he's looking for that Spanish pirate, Carriedo. But of course we haven't seen him. Right, Mr. Beilschmidt?"

Beilschmidt frowned. "But I just said—"

"I knew it!" Arthur cried, as the Frenchman facepalmed. "I knew you were hiding something! Now tell me where he is!"

"The hell we will, you English _arshloch_," the German-speaking man declared.

"Alas, maybe you should go," the police inspector said regretfully. He went to hold open the door for him. "It has been a pleasure, Mr. Kirkland."

"Now wait just a bloody minute," he spluttered angrily. "You think I'm just going to leave? I spent far too much time tracking down this pirate to be turned away at the hands of some second-rate police detective!"

Bonnefoy gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "You wound me to the quick, _monsieur_! I am anything but second-rate!"

Arthur grabbed him by the lapels of his uniform and said menacingly, "You can't hide the truth. I will find him, you understand? I don't know what kind of relationship you have with this man, but he is a pirate, and he will be brought to justice!"

"Alright, enough," the albino said, grabbing both of his arms and forcefully escorting him to the exit. "I'll take out the trash, then."

"Ah, _merci_, Gilbert," Bonnefoy said merrily, winking at Arthur as he was taken away. "I'm sure we shall meet again, _mon ami_!"

"If we do meet again, it will be in hell, you frog!" Arthur yelled as the police deputy deposited him outside the steps to the building. "Unhand me, you twit!" To his surprise, the Prussian twisted one of his arms up behind his back, so hard that he gave a cry of pain.

"I don't know what you want with 'Tonio, whether it's the gold or fame or what," he said darkly, twisting his arm again, "but you better leave him the hell alone, you understand?"

"Bite me," Arthur said through his teeth, despite the pain.

Beilschmidt released him and shoved him forward, causing him to stumble down a few steps. "I do hope you enjoy your stay in Marseilles," he said with a grin, saluting him mockingly before he went back inside.

"I hate this country," Arthur muttered to himself, rubbing his sore arms. He stormed off, more determined than ever to find Carriedo.

* * *

_*Last rites. Very important to Catholics-a priest will come by and bless you and pray for you, etc. The Vargases are Italian, and it seems to be fanon that they're super Catholic :D_

_Also to any Les Miserables fans out there, the Sergent at Waterloo is the name of Thenardier's inn :D_

_France: Francis Bonnefoy_

_Prussia: Gilbert Beilschmidt _

_If you've ever been on a rollercoaster, you know how it is when you go down really quickly. Some people pass out. I can only imagine how intense it must be for a freaking airship to fall out of the sky. _

_Also, I realized I really like writing Feli/Lovi interactions. They're so cute!_

_Also I have a headcanon that Finland is really cute and adorable and easygoing normally but super protective of all of the Nordics. Especially Denmark. Because Denmark is an idiot. Yeah, I didn't kill him. I love him too much._

_Yeah, Prussia and France have made cameos, but they won't show up much in the future._

_Translations_

_French:_

_Mademoiselle- madam_

_Quoi? Je ne parle pas anglais - What? I don't speak English.  
_

_Accueil, monsieur! Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider - Welcome, sir! How may I help you?  
_

_Mon cher - my dear (Francis is pretty friendly, mmhmm)_

_Monsieur - sir_

_à votre service - at your service  
_

_Je suis désolé - I am sorry  
_

_Merci - thank you_

_Mon ami - my friend _

_German:_

_Arshloch - asshole ( I feel like Prussia says this a lot.)_


	8. Ch 8- We See Each Other Plain

**A/N: The chapter title is another Les Miserables reference, because I'm a dork...:|**

* * *

At last, after several hours of searching, Arthur Kirkland came upon a promising looking inn. It was just shady enough to keep out respectable folk, but not seedy enough that a pirate would consider it beneath him. And it was close to the waterfront, where they had come from.

When Arthur entered the breakfast room of the Doge's Palace, it wasn't too difficult to locate Carriedo. After all, they were in a pirate-friendly town, he didn't need to keep too low of a profile. He sat in the corner with a man with short blond hair cropped at his chin and an annoyed expression, talking quickly in hushed tones. "Got you now," he muttered to himself, reaching inside his breast pocket for his pistol to reassure himself. He took a seat a few tables away from him and pulled his bowler hat down low over his eyes, so that he could observe them without being seen himself, and began to wait.

* * *

Lovina didn't want to admit it to herself, but that Antonio Carriedo's gloomy behavior was starting to get her down. He looked like he was about to drown himself in the bottle of tequila that sat in front of him at the sleazy bar they had booked. Even though that annoying blond Swiss guy was busy talking to him about stuff that no one cared about, he still looked like he wanted to crawl in a hole and die. It was kind of irritating, really.

Almost as irritating were her sister and that second mate. Her laughter grated on Lovina's ears. Her sister set next to her at a table in the back, happily seated between the stout German and her twin. There really was something weirdly familiar about Ludwig Beilschmidt to Lovina, but she didn't think too much about it, as he annoyed her in general. The way she hung on his arm and the way he blushed every time she looked at him with those stupid doe eyes…it made her want to puke, it really did. She sighed gustily and looked away from them. She thought about talking to Heracles, but he was asleep, his head buried in his arms on the table. She didn't bother talking to the Dane. His injury had made him even more loud and annoying, as he seemed to be intent on telling everyone in the inn how he had _almost_ saved the ship, to Tino's frustration. Her eyes flickered around the room, taking in the tired innkeeper that rushed around to attend to the various low-lifes that hung about, the windows that obviously hadn't seen a wash cloth in months, the dirty dishes that littered the worn tables, the weird guy that kept staring at Antonio…

Her brows furrowed in suspicion as she examined him more closely. He sat a few tables away from them, pretending to be deeply interested in a book. Who read in a bar, anyway? It was far too noisy. He caught her looking at him and looked startled, but smiled innocently. She scowled darkly. Why was he looking at Antonio like that? It was kind of creepy, she decided. Then, to her shock, he slightly moved his head to indicate the door, as if asking her to meet him outside. Her eyes widened in shock. Was he hitting on her?! She shook her head vehemently, disgusted.

He looked confused. His eyes flickered between her and Antonio, and he frowned. She didn't like the look in his eyes. To her surprise, she saw him whip out a piece of paper, and scribble something down. Wordlessly, he got up and casually moved past her table on his way to the door, not even looking at her. When he left, she took the tiny slip of paper he had dropped on table. Curious, she carefully unfolded it and read: _I can help you and your sister. Meet me at the street light by the wharf._

_Help me?_ She wondered, pursing her lips. _What does he mean? I don't need help!_ Then she remembered that she was being held captive by a pirate and reconsidered. For some reason, she felt almost guilty…but that was what she wanted, right? To get away from these bastard pirates and get her sister away? Right? _Right_, she decided resolutely. Obviously that man recognized her. He probably worked for Grandpa Roma, she thought brightly. She glanced around the table, but no one paid any attention to her. She got up and walked away swiftly, not noticing that Heracles stirred and looked after her with mild curiosity.

The stranger waited for her at the pier, about twenty feet away from the inn, under a street lamp like he said. He was slightly taller than average, and he looked rather pale, from what she could see of him under his dark clothing. He wore a black bowler hat that cast a shadow over his face. Cautiously, she made her way over to him, keeping a few feet between them. "Hello," he said brightly, surprising her with his eager smile. It made him look almost…like a pirate. She wondered if this was a good idea after all. "You must be one of the Vargas girls, right?" He had a strong English accent, she noted.

"Yeah, and who the hell are you?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. She was starting to think that following a complete stranger out into the dark, away from her friends, was perhaps not the best idea.

He looked a little affronted, but continued, "I'm a, er, I'm an English privateer. My name is Captain Arthur Kirkland. I'm here to help you and your sister escape from those pirates." He held out his hand for her to shake, smiling warmly.

She looked at him apprehensively before hesitantly shaking his hand. "I'm Lovina Vargas, and yeah, I'm with Captain Carriedo's crew. What do you plan to do?" She asked.

He smirked, eyes glinting with malice, but not towards her. "He's trapped in the city, right? I saw the ship go down. Quite frankly, I'm a little surprised that you lot managed to survive the fall. But that doesn't change the fact that there's no escaping for him, at least not by ship. And now that I know where he is, I can have my crew surround the inn and capture him. It'll be easy."

"I see," Lovina said, feeling her stomach drop unexpectedly at the danger behind his words. Capture him? And do what with him? Turn him in for the reward, and then what? The international policy for piracy was hanging. And suddenly she felt sick as an image of Antonio dangling at the end of a rope on a dirty gallows came to her, unbidden.

"You'll help me, right?" She felt him put a hand on her shoulder. He looked oddly gentle then, almost fatherly. "I know you must be scared, miss, but trust me when I say that I will help you. I swear on my honor as a gentleman!"

She found herself floundering for words. On the one hand, she wanted to take Feli and go back to Italy, but on the other hand…she thought of Heracles showing her how to steer the ship, Tino sneaking her food when she complained about being hungry, even Mathias could be alright, when he wasn't hitting on her…and that Spanish idiot with his bright smile and merry laugh and saving her life and worrying about his ship and—what was she thinking?! They weren't her friends. They had kidnapped her! Yet there was no other word for what she was feeling—distinctly guilty. "I…I don't think I can," she heard someone say in a very small voice. Surely that wasn't her!

The Brit frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I can't," she said, more loudly, locking eyes with him. "I won't."

He looked confused. "If you're worried about repercussions, I can assure you that you and your sister will be safe. Once Carriedo is captured, you won't ever have to worry about him again," he said grimly. "I can promise you that."

"I said no," she said flatly, and turned sharply on her heel, her skirt fluttering behind her as she marched back to the inn. She heard the pattering of his footsteps behind her and gave a startled cry when he grabbed her wrist and forcefully yanked her back.

"I don't think you are aware of the gravity of this situation, Miss Vargas," the privateer said sternly, ignoring her frantic twisting to get away. "Don't let that man fool you. He may appear to be charming, but don't ever forget what he is: a pirate, and a cutthroat one at that. He would kill you at the drop of a hat."

Suddenly she was so angry that tears sprung into her eyes, the way they always did when she was mad, despite her best efforts. "You don't know a damn thing about him!" She yelled. "You just want the money! You're just another pirate! Now let me _go_!" She stomped on his foot, hard, and he let her go, startled as he let out a curse. She turned and sprinted back to the inn, nearly crashing into Heracles and Antonio on the way back.

"Where were you?" Antonio asked, looking concerned. "Ah—are you crying?"

"No!" She yelled, panting. "I'm just mad because I ran into another damn _pirate_! And he's looking for _you_, I might add!" She added, jabbing him forcefully in the chest.

"What?" Antonio asked, paling. "Who?"

"I saw him earlier," Heracles said quietly, looking past her, towards the area she had just come from. It was deserted. "We should find him, Captain. Where did you see him?"

"Who?" Antonio demanded again.

"Someone named Kirkland," Lovina said, swiping away the tears from her eyes. "He…he wanted me to help him capture you." She looked away from the two men suddenly, pretending not to see the look they exchanged.

"Where did you just come from?" Heracles pressed.

"That street over by the wharf," she said, pointing about thirty feet away. "I didn't see where he went. I just ran."

"We have to get him," Antonio said to his bo'sun, "before he gets back-up. Come on!" The two of them took off running, leaving one very vexed and confused Italian girl to wait for them.

* * *

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Arthur Kirkland cursed as he walked along the Marseilles wharf back to the inn. "I shouldn't have let her go." He probably could have stopped the irate Italian, although she was surprisingly fast, but he didn't really like using force on women, and what would he have done with her, anyway? Used her as bait against Carriedo? It wasn't like the pirate cared about her, and he couldn't force her to help him if she didn't want to. _Foolish girl_, he thought wearily as he walked back, feeling very old. It would have been _so_ helpful to have someone on the inside helping him, too. He sighed deeply and adjusted his bowler hat as he passed under another street light. It had been a ridiculously long day.

He became aware of someone following him after a few moments, so without turning back to look, he moved into the middle of the street, forcing them into the open, ignoring the angry cries from the hacks that drove by. He glanced over his shoulder briefly under the pretense of examining a street sign and saw that no one was behind him anymore. He smirked. Well, that had been unusually easy. He turned left to head down a boulevard lined with bars and restaurants, feeling secure in the relative busyness of the cool French night. He was only a few minutes from the Sargent of Water Loo Inn when he was roughly shoved up against a wall.

"What the hell?" He exclaimed angrily, although his face was half squashed by the rough bricks of the wall. "I don't have any money, you wankers!"

"I don't want your fucking money," someone snarled, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him to face his attacker. Arthur didn't waste a second and immediately swung at the assailant's face, nailing him squarely in the jaw. A split second later he became aware that there were two of them, because the second one punched him in the stomach so hard that he doubled over, gasping. The first one thrust a forearm under his chin, forcing him back up, and he found himself staring into all too familiar eyes.

"Hello there," Antonio Carriedo said, smiling darkly. "It's been too long, _amigo_."

"Should've known you'd come after me," Arthur gasped, struggling to breathe around the pirate's arm. He reached up and tried removing Carriedo's arm from his windpipe, but the Spaniard pressed harder, constricting his breathing.

"Heracles, grab his arms," he instructed, easing up the tiniest bit so that Arthur could breathe. His bo'sun complied, taking the Englishman's arms in a vice grip and turning him to face Antonio.

"Now, what did you say to Lovina?" Antonio asked in a deceptively calm voice, casually pacing in front of him. "She was quite upset when we found her."

"Oh, your little girlfriend?" Arthur asked, laughing. "I didn't do anything to her, don't worry. I am a gentleman, as I've said, unlike some people."

Antonio rubbed his sore jaw and glared at him. "Keep it up, _hombre_," he challenged. "You're not in a very good position here."

"Neither are you," Arthur said in an almost bored voice, although the fire in his eyes indicated that he was anything but. "Your ship's gone, isn't it? What a pity. She was such a pretty little—"

Antonio's solid hit to his mouth effectively shut him up. "Don't you talk about my ship that way," he growled. God, but that privateer knew how to hurt him like no one else.

"Captain, if I may suggest…we could hold him hostage and acquire his ship," Heracles said mildly as Arthur groaned and slumped against him a little. "No one would suspect us in an English ship, either."

"Heracles, you're a genius!" Antonio exclaimed. "Brilliant! Well, it looks like you'll be coming back with us, Kirkland," his rival gloated.

"Sod off," Arthur spat. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, but he looked as defiant as ever. "You might as well shoot me now, you coward. My crew won't respond to ransom demands, and I won't give her to you."

Antonio smirked. "We'll see about that," he said. "Come on, Heracles."

Heracles let his captive go, but held a gun to his back, smiling slightly. "After you, Captain." He nudged the Brit along with the muzzle of his pistol.

"Bloody pirates," Arthur growled as he followed Antonio back to the inn.

* * *

_Yes Lovina, defend your man!_

_And Artie, that's what you get for wandering off on your own! I'm starting to feel bad for him though. He gets roughed up by Prussia and France earlier in the day and then gets to fight with Spain and Greece._

_Also, I'm sorry that my chapters are so dialogue-heavy! I seem to completely forgo the use of descriptions when I write fan fiction...I'll try to work on that. And thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!_


	9. Ch 9- Kill and Run

**The title of this chapter is from the Great Gatsby soundtrack, I definitely recommend listening to it. Anyway, here is Ch. 9, along with some much-needed (in my opinion) character development for Amelia! And the introduction of some (sort of) new characters as well. Enjoy!**

* * *

Amelia Jones lay on top of the small bed in the simple room she had been assigned at the Sargent of Waterloo Inn, too energetic to fall asleep but too tired to get up and move about. She glanced out the window and watched the stars twinkle dimly through the city smog. It made her chest ache a little with loneliness. Sure, she liked her new friends, but she really missed home. Well, she missed her brother, anyway. _What are you up to, Mattie?_ She wondered, her eyes misting up a bit with emotion. _I hope you're keeping out of trouble since I'm not there to save you!_ Even though she was actually a few years younger than Matthew, she was fiercely protective of her half-brother. Matthew had always been so sensitive, so quiet. He wasn't weak or anything like that—heck, he was stronger than she was, not that she'd ever admit it. They looked out for each other, they always had, but she worried about what might happen to him if their country was ever called to war. Originally, he was drafted to fight in the Spanish-American War*, but she had gone in his place, without his knowledge, of course. He had probably been furious. The night before he was supposed to report to the military camp in Albany, she had made him a special going-away dinner and…well, there was no way to get around it. She drugged it, so he wouldn't wake up in time to report for duty the next day. Instead, she had cut her hair and gone in his place, and served her time during the very brief war. It had actually been pretty fun, once she got around the stress of constantly worrying about her real sex being discovered. And once she survived the blistering lecture she got when she returned to their shared home in New York City. _Oh, Mattie_, she thought affectionately, grinning. _You always were a worrywart._

Sighing, she got off the bed and walked over to the small mirror that lay propped up on the mahogany dresser. She looked into the glass and saw a young woman, a little taller than most, with short amber waves that stuck out in several different directions, and random smudges of dirt on her pink cheeks. Her clothes, a gentleman's waistcoat that she had stolen from Arthur, and her own pair of tightly fitted breeches, looked rather odd under her favorite bomber jacket. She grinned, amused as usual by her own crossdressing. On closer inspection, she looked a little ragged. She decided to wash up before having a late dinner.

When she was done, she headed downstairs, grateful that she had managed to wash before Arthur got back. Not that it mattered, really, but she did think he was kind of cute when he was flustered. She sighed as she bounced down the steps, thinking about how he had kissed her right before their ship was attacked. She still hadn't had a chance to talk to him about that. In fact, it seemed like he was avoiding her a little bit…but she could ask him about that now! She surveyed the inn, but the bar and restaurant area was empty except for Jack and Alistair, who sat in a corner, talking easily over mugs of ale.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, plopping herself down on a bar stool across from the two Kirkland men. "Where's Artie?"

"Eh, we're wondering the same thing, lass," Alistair said, rubbing the red stubble on his chin tiredly. The Scot looked pretty worn out by the day's events, but he managed to smile. It amused Amelia how often Arthur's family members smiled, when he himself only seemed to scowl. "It's past nine. I don't know where the little bairn is, meself. He's probably just gettin' a drink somewhere, if I know him."

"I'm about to go look for him," Jack said cheerfully. The second mate didn't really like to sit still, Amelia knew, and he drummed the tabletop impatiently.

"I'll go with you," Amelia suggested. "It's a nice night."

But after two hours of searching the town, asking at different pubs, and checking the aerodrome, their sarcastic English captain was nowhere to be found. Amelia frowned, not liking the uneasy feeling that rose up inside of her. _He's my friend_, she reasoned to herself as she easily kept up with Jack's long strides. _That's all. I'm not_ that _worried.__ I'm sure he's fine. He's a smart guy…too smart_, she thought, chuckling a little as she thought of how dry and sarcastic he could be when he wanted to insult someone, usually his brother. Still.

"I think we should turn in," Jack said finally, after they finished walking up and down the waterfront a second time. "It's past midnight." He glanced over at some suspicious-looking men huddled in the shadow of a nearby pub, and took Amelia's arm protectively. "And this place is kind of sketchy."

"But we haven't found Artie," she argued, looking troubled. "You can go back, Jack. I'm sure he's just in a pub we haven't checked yet. I'll go look—"

"You seem awfully worried," Jack teased, hoping to distract her.

"What?" Amelia said, frowning. "Sure I am, he's my friend!"

"Is that all?" Jack said, grinning mischievously. "He seems awfully fond of you." The ploy worked; the American girl was sufficiently distracted from her goal. He shrugged and turned to walk back to the Sergeant of Waterloo Inn.

"Wait!" Amelia called, running after him. "What do you mean by that, Jack?" She looked concerned. "Jaaaack!"

So the search was called off until the next day. Amelia didn't sleep very much, although the others didn't seem as bothered as she felt. She lay in bed long after she said good night to Jack and stared out her window pensively. It wasn't in her nature to worry so much, and she didn't like it. She wasn't one to second guess or contemplate things very much; she preferred to charge right in, shooting first and asking questions later. She didn't much care for waiting either. She finally forced herself to close her eyes, and slept fitfully.

* * *

"Ah, feck," Alistair swore when he received a neatly penned letter the next day with his breakfast. The giant Scottish man glared at the piece of paper clutched in his fist as if it had personally offended him. "Bloody hell, Arthur! Why do you always get yourself into trouble?"

"Is something the matter, Mr. Kirkland?" A quiet voice asked him from behind. Kiku sat down at the breakfast table next to him with a bowl of oatmeal and fresh fruit, looking mildly concerned.

"Arthur went and got himself kidnapped," Alistair said, not bothering to lower his voice. Some of the other patrons of the inn looked up in concern, but he didn't notice them.

Kiku's brown eyes widened in shock. "What? How…how is that possible? May I see the letter?"

Alistair shoved it over to him, no longer in the mood to eat his breakfast of bacon, link sausage, and eggs.

Kiku read it over carefully, keeping his emotions closely in check until he had read the entirety of the short letter: _We have Kirkland. Give me ownership of the _Victoria _and he's yours again. You have until midnight tomorrow. Kindest regards, A. F. Carriedo. _

"What the hell are we going to do?" Alistair exclaimed. The cheerful Scot looked unusually ferocious, Kiku noted. Perhaps his bond with Arthur was closer than either man was willing to admit. He was, after all, his younger brother.

"Well, the Captain would rather die than lose his ship," Kiku said thoughtfully, stirring his oatmeal. The Japanese man looked up when Toris and Jack joined them.

"Morning, gents," Jack said brightly. "What're you two looking so gloomy about? Arthur not turned up yet?"

"We have a bit of a situation on our hands, gentlemen," Kiku said hastily. "The Captain has been taken by Carriedo's crew."

"What?" Jack exclaimed, looking unusually serious. "How did he let that happen?"

"That seems very unlikely," Toris agreed. "He's too smart for that. He's probably hungover somewhere," he added with a chuckle.

"I don't think so," the Australian mused. "Amelia and I checked most of the pubs last night—"

"We have a letter from Carriedo himself, anyway," Alistair interrupted. "And they want the ship in exchange for him. The question is…what do we do about it?"

"Wait til nightfall, and then attack," Jack suggested immediately. "It shouldn't be too hard to find them in this town."

"We risk losing the Captain if we do that," Kiku pointed out, rubbing his temples tiredly. He was going to need some sake if he was going to have to deal with this…

"What do you suggest then?" Jack said defensively, frowning. "We can't give them the _Victoria_! Arthur would have our heads!"

"We may not have an alternative," Toris said, sighing.

"We could go to the police…or not," Jack said, at the incredulous looks of the other men. "Arthur did say they were pretty useless."

"Carriedo owns the police in this city," Alistair said darkly. "Bloody cops."

"Morning, gents," a female voice said airily. The men turned from their discussion to see Amelia come bouncing down the stairs, wearing her characteristic wide smile. "What's going on, huh?" She grabbed a biscuit from a nearby table and forced herself onto the already crammed bench next to Kiku, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

The other men exchanged glances. Amelia couldn't come with them, that was a given. She was a civilian, tough or not, and Arthur would probably murder them if he knew that she was involved. She didn't seem to pick up on the tense atmosphere though, as she buttered the bread and whistled to herself cheerfully. "Oh, is Artie back yet?" She said absently, trying to look nonchalant.

"Er, about that," Kiku said slowly, wondering how to break it to her.

"Hey, Amelia, we actually need your help with something," Jack said suddenly.

Kiku closed his eyes in exasperation, horrified at whatever idea the Australian was about to propose.

"There are going to be some important repairs to _the Victoria_ today," he said, looking at her seriously. "The others and I have some errands to run, so we won't be there to make sure that the aerodrome workers don't mess it up. Do you think you could hang out there, just to keep an eye on her?"

"Aw, but I wanted to explore the town today," she said, pouting.

The others watched Jack to see what he would say. "I understand," he said, sighing. "I mean, it's pretty important, but if you have other stuff to do…I wouldn't want to impose on you. I just thought that you'd want to help look after the ship…it is a pretty important task, but—"

"Oh, I don't mind that much," she said, laughing. "I guess if it's that big of a deal to ya, I could hang out there." The others breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I'll catch you later, then!" She swiped Alistair's bowler hat and placed it at a jaunty angle on her own head, winked, and left.

* * *

Ah, to be young and in the city! Amelia inhaled deeply, practically skipping along the wharf as she made her way over to the aerodrome. She didn't notice the amused glances of the French passerby, shaking their heads at the frivolous American girl in her oddly masculine attire and cropped golden curls. She spent a happy morning chatting to a baker for her breakfast before throwing the rest to the fish, to the irritation of the fishermen nearby. She then proceeded to chase down the letter carrier to hand him a letter that she had written yesterday for Mattie, and then she finally decided to head over to the aerodrome.

The Marseilles Aerodrome was visible from almost any point in the city with its magnificent painted aluminum dome atop the sturdy metal building which soared high above the surrounding buildings. She appraised it thoughtfully, and decided to stuff her curls into Alistair's hat upon spotting the two aerodrome attendants standing outside. If she wore the jacket carefully enough, her breasts weren't very visible. And she was slightly taller than medium height, so she could pass for a short male if necessary. Turning up her collar, she marched up the stairs to the entrance and glided past the two attendants without being questioned. When she pushed open the heavy metal doors, she was almost overwhelmed by the buzzing activity of the aerodrome. Three separate levels of moored ships would have made the interior feel almost cramped if the building hadn't been so massive. She immediately spotted the _Victoria_, the smallest of all of the airships, hovering at the top level. She made her way over to the spiral staircase that hugged the wall nearest her, but a broad-shouldered man stopped her.

_"__Pardon_," he said, holding out a hand authoritatively to stop her. He asked her something in French, but she didn't understand. She just flashed him a bright smile and made to move past him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She frowned. "You cannot go through here unless you are the captain," he said in heavily accented English.

"Ah, the Captain, that's me," she declared in an atrocious Cockney accent. "Arthur Kirkland is me name!" She pointed to herself and grinned.

The aerodrome worker frowned, studying her suspiciously. He remembered the captain being blond and British, but not quite so…effeminate.

"I was in the bloody Royal Navy," she added, puffing out her chest and glaring at him in what she hoped was in a convincing manner. "Now show me to my ship!" _This is way too much fun_, she thought to herself, trying not to giggle. _Artie would throw a fit if he saw me now!_

Finally, though, he reluctantly assented, and led her up the three levels of stairs to the slight airship. Amelia smiled affectionately upon seeing it again. Already she was looking better. The shattered windows had been easy to repair, but she wasn't so sure about the interior damage. Amelia reached out and patted the hull reassuringly. She knew it wasn't her place to be so concerned about the ship, but she had grown really attached to it, along with the crew. Really, monitoring the repairs was the least she could do, she reflected as she settled in to wait.

* * *

She had actually dozed off, seated against the wall on the third deck by the stairs, when she was startled awake by loud voices several hours later. The aerodrome was already pretty loud, but these voices, raised in anger, got her attention. She scrambled to her feet and peered over the railing, looking down three levels to see who had entered. A giant of a man kicked the doors open—those were metal doors!—and a small horde of people poured in around him, swarming the loading bay like locusts. Her gut instinct told her that they were trouble. She reached in her sleeve and pulled out her Bowie knife and with the other hand grabbed the rose-handled Derringer that Arthur had given her. No sooner had she done that then a gunshot rang out and ricocheted high up into the dome, and she saw one of the attendants she had encountered earlier fall over dead.

"Shit," she breathed, tensing as she saw a pair of them head for the stairs on the left. She cocked her gun and fired at the taller of them, an Asian man clad in dark red, but the bullet merely parted his hair and lodged itself in the wall behind him. He looked up and they locked eyes temporarily before he moved to the second deck, ignoring her.

"They're taking the ships," a worker to her left realized, as he saw a group of three move towards the ship on the lowest level, a bulky luxury ship named the _Sant d'Angelo_. "They're pirates!"

"Great," Amelia said. "More pirates. Come on, we'll be safer on the ship," she said, tugging on his sleeves as she led him over to the gangway of the _Victoria_. They ran into the interior of the ship, and she turned to the crank that would draw up the gangway and threw her entire weight against it. "Help me move this," she said with a grunt. Her companion moved to take the machine, but a cold, high voice stopped them.

"Halt," a clear voice rang out. They looked up and saw a slender, striking young woman pointing a giant revolver at them. She had silvery blonde hair that trailed all the way to her slight waist, a pale face so sharp and pointed that it could cut you, and narrowed lilac eyes that tracked their every movement. She was dressed like a doll, but she gave off the air of a lethal tiger toying with its prey. "Don't move."

_What accent was that?_ Amelia wondered. She stared the girl down, keeping her gun hidden all the while behind her back.

"Hands where I can see them," she ordered, her eyes locked on Amelia.

The Frenchman next to her moved imperceptibly, but it distracted her sufficiently. Coldly, remorselessly, she shot him down.

Amelia took the opportunity to tackle her before she could recover from the kickback of the gun. The revolver went flying out of the smaller woman's hands and Amelia drove her knees into the soft part of her arms as she sat on her stomach, effectively immobilizing and winding her. She didn't look back at the dying man behind her. Her eyes focused on the target in front of her. Lilac eyes met blue as the female pirate struggled underneath her. "Your friend is dead, and you will be too," she snarled in that strange accent, looking not at all afraid.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that," Amelia said with a humorless chuckle. She reached down to grab the girl around the neck and hauled the both of them to their feet. "I have a captive now." Keeping a careful grip on her opponent, Amelia felt around for her gun, but—no! Had she lost it in the scuffle?

"Looking for something?"

Both women turned to the speaker. It was the giant Amelia had seen earlier. He was well over six feet tall and solidly built, and he bore a strange resemblance to the girl she held tightly, with the same silvery hair and lilac eyes. But his face was rounder and softer than hers, more childish, with a large nose and a wide smile. It was a smile that made her shiver. The giant held up her revolver teasingly, a knowing smile on his thick lips. "It's not wise to leave your toys lying around. Now please let go of my little sister."

"Little sister?" Amelia repeated, trying to stall for time. But she only tightened her grip around the girl's neck.

"Big brother," she choked out, reaching towards him feebly as her oxygen supply diminished. "Shoot this harlot! Shoot—" Amelia tightened her grip, wanting to shut her up.

"You will be letting her go now," the large man instructed. He had picked up her gun and now pointed it at her halfheartedly, as if he wasn't sure if it was worth his time to shoot her or not. "Now," he repeated, cocking the gun.

Reluctantly, Amelia released her captive. The girl scurried to her brother's side and whipped around to glare at her venomously. "Kill her now, brother," she hissed, latching onto his free arm like a parasite.

"No need to kill," he said cheerfully. "I just want the ship."

"Too damn bad," Amelia shot back, bracing herself against the hull of the ship. "You can't have it. I'll fight you both!"

"And end up dead, like this man?" The man inquired. Gently, he shook off his sister, and crossed the metal landing to where she stood, her back against the ship. He nudged the aerodrome worker's body with the toe of his boot. She wanted to break his stupid smug face.

"Don't touch him!" She cried. She may not have known him, but damned if she was going to let some stranger come and kick his body around!

"I admire your courage, little one," the man chuckled, walking over to her. He gently tilted up her chin with the muzzle of the gun, peering into her face curiously. "Who are you? Surely you are not the owner of this fine ship." His eyes flickered to the airship with childish greed.

"Amelia Jones, and I'll kick your ass if you try to take it," she said defiantly. She was so angry she could barely breathe. This was precisely why she was never the best soldier—she had lost her head one too many times in battle.

"Why, you insolent little—" The woman behind her cried, but her brother ignored her. "How interesting," he mused, smiling a little. She didn't want to admit it, but that smile of his scared her more than the gun in his hands, although the cold metal sent goose bumps down her spine. "Well, this ship is mine now," he announced. "Or should I say, it is the property of the Russian Federation." He dropped the gun to his side and moved to stroke the hull of the _Victoria_ lovingly.

Suddenly, it clicked in her head. The weird foreigners with the accents that appeared out of nowhere that wanted ships, and now talk of the Russian Federation…this man was with the same people who had shot down the _Santa Maria _ and wounded the _Victoria!_

"You…you're with General Braginski," she realized.

The Russian turned to her with a huge smile. "_With_ Braginski? I _am_ General Braginski," he corrected. "And now I will be taking this lovely ship. Natalya, go get Yao and Felicks. We're almost ready to go."

"You can't just come in here shooting people and stealing ships," Amelia cried. _Maybe if I can stall him, the gendarmes* will arrive,_ she thought frantically. _They have to be on their way! Surely someone has warned them!_

"Oh, can't I, little one?" Braginski said indifferently. "That is how things are done in the real world, you see. You take the things you want, or have them taken from you."

Amelia bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. More than anything, she didn't want to lose Arthur's ship. But what could she do? She had her Bowie knife still, but that was no use in a gunfight, and she was severely outnumbered. Who knew how many of the workers had been shot for getting in the way? A feeling of helplessness washed over her, and it made her sick.

Two other men walked up the stairs and came to Braginski's side—Amelia recognized the man she had shot earlier, along with a slender blond, both dressed in the dark red of the Russian Federation uniform.

"The other ships have successfully been commandeered," the Asian man reported, nodding sharply to the general.

"Yeah, we only had to kill two of the men," the blond said, looking bored. "They were, like, giving us trouble, so we just went ahead and shot them."

"Good, good," General Braginski said, looking pleased. "Gather up the remaining workers, please, Natalya. They will be the crew for this ship." With a last glare at Amelia, the silver-haired woman left the landing and went to the second deck to summon the aerodrome workers.

"Who's this?" The blond asked suspiciously, gesturing at Amelia. She glared at him.

"Don't worry about her," Braginski said dismissively. "She's weaponless. She won't cause us any trouble, da?" He looked sharply at the American girl, who had, in fact, been edging away from the ship and towards the staircase. "On second thought…Yao, bind her wrists. We should probably leave somebody alive to tell the others what happened to their ships, hmm?"

"Don't make me shoot you," the Chinese man warned when she put up her fists defensively. He grabbed her wrists and twisted them expertly so she cried out and nearly fell to her knees, but she forced herself not to fall, gritting her teeth against the pain. He neatly tied them with a bundle of rope and not so gently shoved her towards the wall, so that her sore wrists took the force of the impact. "Might as well tie those, too," he reasoned, eyeing her legs warily in case she was considering kicking him. He knelt down and tied her ankles together, so that she was left glaring up at him balefully.

By then, Natalya and another woman had marched the captured workers up the stairs to the landing, where General Braginski directed them to the _Victoria_. The others dispersed to the other two ships in the aerodrome, leaving only Braginski and Natalya standing on the platform, monitoring the activity.

"Enjoy your stay," Natalya said bitingly to Amelia, aiming a kick at her unprotected ribs. Amelia grunted, but only glared at her, not wanting her to realize how much that hurt. "Come on, big brother. We must be going."

"Da," he agreed, shivering a bit under his sister's intense glare. Almost regretfully, he turned to Amelia, and crouched down next to her. She felt a whoosh of cold air with his sudden movement, and it made her shiver. He smiled wolfishly. "Well, it was very nice to meet you, Amelia Jones," he said. "I would shake your hand, but it seems that they are otherwise preoccupied. I do hope that we meet again. I have a feeling that we would get along _very_ well in other circumstances." With a mocking salute, he stood up and walked up to the gangway of the _Victoria_. He had almost disappeared inside the small airship when he turned back and said, "Oh, and tell your captain hello and thank you for me. _Dasvidaniya_!"

His jibe hung in the air for a full five minutes as the ship prepared to take off, hissing as the balloon swelled. Amelia watched with tears in her eyes as the ship rose through the yawning opening in the ceiling and into the starry twilight, unable to stop it. She banged the back of her head against the cold aluminum wall and let the tears trickle down the sides of her face. _I'm so sorry, Arthur._

* * *

_*The Spanish-American War was a very short war from April to December 1898, the year before this story takes place (well, it started in late 1899, it's 1900 now, but still.) I love the idea of Amelia as a soldier, and as hot as I think Matthew would look in his mountie uniform, I hate the idea of him fighting :c Plus, Canadians wouldn't fight in the war...but since he was residing in New York at the time, he might have been drafted? Maybe...yeah. We'll go with that._

_Russia - Ivan Braginski_

_Belarus - Natalya Arlovskaya_

_China - Yao Wang (Wang Yao)_

_Poland - Feliks Łukasiewicz_

_Other people that will probably show up with General Braginski's group-Ukraine, Latvia, Estonia._

_*Gendarmes- French police.  
_

_Dasvidanyia is Russian for good-bye, but I think most of us know this from Anastasia. _

_I hope I characterized the new people alright! I love, love, LOVE Russia, and I hate making him the bad guy, but that turned out to be the most convenient thing to do...he can be a bit power crazy. But then, so can my other favorite characters, so..._

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! _

_What will happen now that neither of the crews have a ship? Hmm..._


	10. Ch 10- Runnin with the Devil

**A/N: Sorry if fem!Italy seems a little OOC in this next passage...but I think you'll see why. Also, in canon, Estonia said "Wow, she's so badass!" So I think she can be a little more upfront than her male counterpart. Just my thoughts. Ah, here we go, finally the chapter that actually carries out the plot promised in the summary. I know I've been saying that for a few chapters now, but now I've finally got this mapped out, and then I can move on to glorious, fluffy romance.**

**Don't laugh at my awesome classic rock references. Van Halen rocks. And it makes me think of pirate!Spain and pirate!England, okay. **_**"I live my life like there's no tomorrow**_  
_**And all I've got I had to steal**_  
_**Least I don't need to beg or borrow**_.  
_**Yes, I'm living at a pace that kills."**_

* * *

It was Ludwig who found out first. The stout German had been sent to the Marseilles Aerodrome—along with Feliciana, who took it upon herself to follow him—to inspect Kirkland's ship. But they were stopped at the steps by a burly gendarme with a thick mustache. "You cannot come in," he told the second mate firmly.

Ludwig frowned. He wasn't one to question authority figures, but… "But Monsieur, I need to check on my ship," he lied smoothly.

"Please let us in?" Feliciana said, smiling widely at the policeman.

He shook his head, unfazed by the charming Italian girl. "You'll have to talk to the inspector if you want any clearance," he said sternly, gesturing to a blond Frenchman some feet away. "This is a crime scene, Monsieur."

"A crime scene?" Feliciana exclaimed.

"Come on, let's go see what this is about," Ludwig said, looking troubled. Feliciana effortlessly slipped her small hand into his and followed him down the steps to where the inspector stood, talking to two other men.

"Monsieur," Ludwig began respectfully, but then a look of horror crossed his face when he recognized the police inspector.

"Why, if it isn't little Luddy! You've certainly gotten big," Francis Bonnefoy exclaimed affectionately. His blue eyes lit up with mischief. "And who is this charming young lady?"

"Feliciana Vargas," she chirped, laughing merrily when he swept her a rather unnecessary bow. "We're with Captain Carriedo."

"_Oui_, I know," Bonnefoy said, giving the blushing second mate a knowing look. "Why are you two here, anyway?"

"We came to inspect a ship," Ludwig explained. "The captain has taken Arthur Kirkland prisoner," he said in a lowered voice, "and plans to exchange him for his ship."

"Ah, that is bad luck," Francis said, giving a low whistle. "You see, _mon ami_, all the ships were stolen yesterday."

"What?" Ludwig exclaimed, his fair eyebrows rising so high that they nearly disappeared into his slicked back hair. "All of them? How is that possible?"

"The Russian Federation is on the move," Francis said grimly, casting a searching gaze heavenward. "It was General Braginski and his crew. They came in here last night and held the place up. Three ships gone." He shook his head regretfully. "C'est la vie. There is nothing to be done."

"Luddy," Feliciana said, tugging on his sleeve. "We have to go tell the Captain." For once, she looked troubled. Maybe the seriousness of the situation had gotten to her, or maybe she was remembering the way the _Santa Maria_ fell through the sky like a meteor and crashed into the ocean. Because of that man. Braginski.

"Right," Ludwig agreed, a little dazed. "Thank you for your time, Inspector."

"Anything for a friend," Francis beamed. "I only wish I had good news. Shall I send your brother your regards?"

Ludwig winced. "It's better if he doesn't know I'm here," he admitted. "I don't think he's too happy about my career choice."

As they walked away from the Aerodrome, Feliciana was unusually quiet. Her silence finally got to Ludwig as the sounds of the busy city assaulted his ears. He glanced at the slight Italian girl at his side, looking adorable in a saffron yellow frock that complemented her slender frame. "Um…Feliciana? Are you alright?" In response, she walked a few feet in front of him before whipping around to face him suddenly.

"You never told me you had a brother," she said, almost accusingly, as she turned the full force of those wide amber eyes on him.

"Um, _ja_," he answered, a little thrown off. "An older brother. Why—"

She walked up to him and stared up into his face, only a few inches away. He could see the smattering of pale freckles across the tanned bridge of her nose, and he felt his face heat up. "Feliciana—"

"Who are you, Ludwig?" She demanded with unusual force, for a moment looking more like her ferocious twin than the sweet, mild-mannered girl he had become so fond of.

"What kind of question is that?" He exclaimed. People were staring at them. She was practically standing on his boots, she was so close to him. "I'm your friend. Ludwig Beilschmidt. Are you…are you angry at me?" He didn't like the emotion that crept into his voice, but he couldn't help it. In a rare gesture of emotion, he clasped her hands and held them up to his chest. "I don't understand…"

She gave him a hard look, but softened when he took her hands. "You're not…" She began, then sighed. "It's nothing. I just thought…but I was being stupid. You just reminded me of someone, that's all."

Her words sent goose bumps down his spine, and he felt uneasy for some reason, but he couldn't think why, so he just gave her a strained smile. "Come on," he said gently. "The Captain will want to hear about this."

"Gone?" Antonio yelled. He slammed his fist down on the table, knocking his wineglass over. "¿_Qué demonios se supone que debo hacer ahora?_" He jumped up from his seat and began to pace back in forth, cursing in Spanish under his breath. "No ship, no way out of this godforsaken city—"

He wasn't the only one to be upset. Arthur Kirkland sat off to the side, bound to one of the inn's breakfast chairs, listening closely to their conversation. When he heard that his ship was taken, a dark look crossed his face, like a storm cloud over a turbulent sea. He looked angry enough to kill someone. But the quick-tempered Englishman for once held his calm. His sea green eyes watched his fellow pirate captain storm about the interior of the inn, and his wrists itched to be free of the coarse ropes. God, how he wanted to strangle the man that had taken his ship. His beloved _Victoria_. Rage crashed over him like a deadly wave, but he forced himself to contain it. Now wasn't the time to become angry. Now, Carriedo had no reason to keep him alive. He had to think quickly.

"Carriedo, if you could pipe down and pull your head out of your ass for one moment, maybe you would be able to think of what to do next," he said drily. His Spanish rival never had appreciated his scathing humor, and it got his attention, just like he knew it would.

Antonio looked over his shoulder at him with a dangerous expression on his handsome face. He turned very slowly from his crew and pulled a long, slender knife from his coat pocket. He looked at Arthur pointedly and threw it, causing him to flinch. It lodged itself in the wood behind him. It had missed him by less than an inch. "What were you saying, limey?" He asked with his bright smile.

The insult didn't even faze Arthur. He was too far gone. "I was thinking," he began, then stopped. The idea was pretty repulsive, even to him, but he was at a loss. He had his back against a wall. Literally.

"Don't listen to him, Captain," his first mate said, shooting Arthur a dark look. "You know how manipulative he can be." Arthur glared back at the Swiss man. Now all of the crew was watching him with interest. He swallowed uneasily and forced himself to continue.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could go after Braginski together," he said, looking Antonio straight in the eye. The Spanish pirate's eyes widened in shock. He didn't say anything.

His navigator laughed. "Cute," the Dane chuckled. "He wants to be friends with you, 'Tonio."

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur snapped. "He destroyed your ship, Carriedo. He's stolen mine. Don't you want revenge? Don't you see how futile it is to go after him separately?"

Antonio frowned, hating him for reminding him of his loss. He grunted noncommitedly.

"You can't be considering this, Captain," Zwingli cried. The first mate stood up from his seat across from Arthur and walked over to Antonio, grasping his shoulder bracingly. "You cannot trust this man. You know that the first chance he gets he'll turn you over to the authorities, and us as well."

"Once I get my ship back, I can afford not to give a damn about you," Arthur said harshly. "But I'm going after Braginski one way or another. I'm going to make that bastard rue the day he messed with me and my crew. You can come with me or you can stay and rot in this vile French port, I really don't care. I just thought that maybe you had some self-respect."

At the challenge to his honor, something visibly snapped in Antonio. "What. Did. You. Say," he breathed. His green eyes glowed like absinthe in the poor lighting of the barroom as he approached Arthur. He grabbed him by the neck, forcing his head up. "Say that again," he said in a low voice. "You seem to forget that you are my prisoner, _amigo_."

"Knock it off," Arthur choked, his face starting to turn red. "Think it over."

Antonio released him in disgust. "Get him out of my sight," he snapped. "I can't think with him around." He pretended not to hear the dry chuckle that escaped his captive.

Ludwig obliged, hopping off his seat at the bar and grabbing him forcefully by the arm. "I'll take him outside, Kapitän," he said helpfully.

Once he was gone, Antonio turned to his crew. They looked back at him wearily. They hadn't been paid since the sack of the Vargas ship, and they were currently without a home, their ship. And yet, they trusted him. He felt the weight of responsibility settle on his young shoulders and sighed. He poured himself a glass of wine from a nearby pitcher and sat down across from the rest of the crew. Tino, Vash, Heracles, Mathias, and the Vargas girls all looked at him expectantly. "Well?" He asked them. "I'm putting it to the vote. What do you think?"

"Absolutely not," Vash said firmly. He looked appalled at the very idea.

"I don't know," Tino said thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the table restlessly. "He's a good captain, and a good fighter. He would be good to have in a pinch," the Finn said honestly.

"I'm with Tino," Mathias commented with an easy shrug, then winced. His shoulder and ribs still hadn't healed. "I know I want to pound that damn Russian, and he does too. That's what makes me trust him. You know that's his motive, too."

"Heracles?" Antonio asked his mild bo'sun.

The tanned man hummed quietly in thought before replying, "I want to go after Braginski."

Vash made a sound of disgust at his fellow crew mates.

Antonio at last turned to the Vargas girls. They sat very close together. Feliciana wasn't looking at him, but staring into the cup she held tightly between her hands. The brunette looked troubled by something, but didn't say anything. Lovina met his eyes steadily and said, without her usual rudeness, "Well? What's your plan for us, bastard? Are we coming along on this damn expedition?"

He smiled a little. "The plan was to leave you here, actually," he admitted. "I hate dragging you two into danger. And this will be even worse."

Feliciana's head jerked up suddenly. "What?" She cried. "You can't just leave us here!" She jumped to her feet. Lovina looked up at her sister, startled. She gently pulled her down next to her.

"I'm with Feli," she declared, looking around at the rest of the crew. "You idiots dragged us into this. You can't get rid of us that easily," she added defiantly, flushing a little at the glances the others gave her.

"So you do want to stay?" Antonio asked, surprised. He knew he should be concerned for their safety, but the fact that Lovina didn't want to leave made him much happier than it should.

The Italian sisters, for once, seemed to be in agreement. "We're staying," they affirmed in unison.

"Swell," Mathias cried. "Might as well just add them to the crew, eh, Tonio? And then I can bring my lady along, right?"

Antonio ignored him. "I suppose that's that," he said, over Vash's disgruntled muttering. "I guess we'd better tell Kirkland, then." He sighed at the thought of having to work with the sarcastic Englishman for the next few months. But it would be worth it, he thought to himself, if he could avenge the _Santa Maria_.

* * *

Spanish:

_Qué demonios se supone que debo hacer ahora? - What the hell am I supposed to do now?_

_Yeah, 'Tonio is not happy. But can you imagine how Artie feels? Poor Artie. _

_So, as most of you can imagine, fem!Italy recognizes Germany from her past ~*~*~~* Yeah, that was a reference to Germany looking like the Holy Roman Empire in the anime/manga. Is he someone from Feliciana's past? She certainly thinks so, and she's upset because she thinks he might be lying to her. I'll elaborate more on that in future chapters, fusososo. _

_And yeah, Gilbert is Ludwig's older brother, obviously. I feel like he wouldn't want his little bruder to grow up and be a pirate. _

_Anyway, thank you for your helpful reviews, everyone! I'll try to write the next chapter pretty soon. Hope you enjoyed the GerIta. More UsUk and Spamano (I haven't forgotten Antonio and Lovina, I promise!) will be coming up!_


	11. Ch 11- Stubborn Love

**A/N: "Stubborn Love" is probably one of my favorite songs by the Lumineers, you should listen to it. It describes Amelia and Arthur quite well, I think. Ah, this chapter was so much fun to write. I thought I'd finally work on the "romance" part of this adventure/romance story, so...please enjoy ;)**

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Arthur's crew was elated to see him. He didn't really want to deal with their crushing hugs and questions, though. He just wanted to lie down. He hadn't slept in over twenty four hours, and he was exhausted. He waved off their questions, promising to answer them after he'd rested. He climbed up the stairs of the Sergent at Waterloo inn and kicked open the first door he came across.

"Ack!" Came a rather high-pitched shriek.

He blinked blearily, frowning. "Who—"

The door swung open, and he saw none other than Amelia Jones standing in front of the dresser, wearing only a chemise and drawers. "Haven't you heard of knocking?" He stared at her breathlessly, unable to speak, and got a shoe thrown at him as a result.

He ducked instinctively, narrowly missing a very painful blow to the head. "What the hell are you doing in my room? And why aren't you dressed?" He demanded, red faced.

She glared at him, planting her hands on her hips defiantly. He tried not to stare at the soft curves of her body outlined in her cotton clothes, but it was really quite difficult. "This is _my_ room, actually," she corrected him. "Some gentleman you are!"

"I-I beg your pardon," he said, mortified. "I really am sorry, Miss Jones. I didn't realize."

A tiny smile crept over her face. "It's okay," she said, laughing. "It's not like you haven't seen me like this before." She didn't look at all embarrassed. It was true, ever since she had been aboard the _Victoria, _she had roomed with him, and well…it had been only a matter of time until he had walked in on her changing, or she him. All the same, the whole matter was very inappropriate. He stared at his feet in embarrassment.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" She asked teasingly. He looked up, and she was right there. He gave a yelp and stepped back. She stepped forward, grinning impishly.

"_Please_ put some clothing on," he said, although the way her blue eyes twinkled at him, he felt as though he were the one that was undressed. _She has no sense of propriety at all_, he thought grumpily.

"I missed you, Artie," she said simply, clasping her hands behind her back and staring at him seriously. "You had all of us really worried. Jack and I spent hours looking for you!"

"I wish you lot had paid that much attention to my ship," he said with a bitter laugh.

Her face froze, and then-

_Crack!_

Artie raised a hand to the side of his face, which felt like it was on fire. "You-you slapped me!" He said, shocked. He would have been furious, but the expression on her face confused and worried him. He had never seen her so angry.

"How _dare_ you," she yelled, jabbing him in the chest forcefully. "I almost got killed defending your stupid ship, you know that? I was alone in the Aerodrome when those damn pirates came! I only had that stupid little gun you gave me!" She ran over to her bed and pulled it out from beneath her pillow and he flinched instinctively, but she only tossed it away furiously. "One little gun against a dozen trained combatants! I was in the army but let me tell you, _those are not good odds_. I did my damn best out there, so don't you dare come in here and tell me I didn't do enough! I had a pyscho girl attack me and they tied me up and they left me in that building for _three hours_ before the police came to investigate! Do you know what that's like, being completely helpless, do you, Arthur? Because it is _horrible_," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. She turned away, embarrassed at the emotion that slipped out, shaking a little. "It was horrible," she repeated, not looking at him.

"You—you were—what?" He spluttered. The side of his face continued to throb. "What were you doing there? Don't you realize how much danger you were in?" He exclaimed. _Dammit Arthur, that is not what she needs to hear_, he thought, mentally cringing.

She laughed at him, standing there in her underwear. She threw her head back and laughed at him, but it wasn't her usual friendly, obnoxious laugh. It was full of spite, and it hurt him to hear. "Dangerous? I had no idea," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "But it doesn't matter. I should have taken better care of it, as a soldier, but you have no right to come in here and tell me that! Do you know how bad I feel?" She demanded, her eyes a little too bright. She gave an angry sigh and threw her hands in the air. "I don't know why I'm asking you this. It's not like you care."

"Amelia—" He began.

"You never take me seriously," she continued, pacing angrily back and forth in front of him. How had she gone from sunny and happy to this angry whirlwind in seconds flat? "You never let me help out on the ship, and when I do anyway, you criticize me. "

"Please, let me—"

"You can be pretty damn grumpy, too! And then," she cried, pointing an accusing finger at him, "you kiss me out of nowhere, and then avoid me for days! I don't know what your problem is, Arthur Kirkland, but you can be a damned pain in my ass sometimes! I don't even know why I—"

"Amelia," he interrupted, reaching out to cup her hot face in his hands. She stopped yelling and looked at him in surprise. He felt the blood rush to her cheeks under his touch. He stared at her very seriously. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you'd damn well better be," she said, scowling at him.

"But you're wrong," he added quietly.

Her eyes lit up with anger again, and she began, "About _what? _Not a damn thing I said wasn't true! You're just being stubborn—"

"I do…care, I mean," he said, feeling his own face flush.

She looked at him in surprise, and a strange expression crossed her face. "Wha…really?" She asked, biting her lip anxiously. "I mean, I can never tell what you're thinking, you're always smirking or yelling or—"

Before she could continue listing off his many faults, he tilted her face up and kissed her very gently. She didn't need any encouragement. She eagerly kissed him back and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself flush against his body. He sighed into her mouth, reaching a hand up to tangle in her unruly hair. Her lips were so soft, and he realized he had missed the feel of her body near his. She was like a miniature sun, radiating warmth and affection. She made him feel cherished, and that was not something he had felt in a long time. "Amelia," he murmured.

"Don't talk," she ordered, and went back to kissing him.

He smiled against her mouth, letting her control the kiss, before he reached down and picked her up. She gave a gasp of surprise, and he chuckled a little, feeling her wrap her strong legs around his waist. "Artie, I'm surprised at you," she said mischievously, panting a little.

"Are you still angry with me?" He asked, staring into those beautiful, honest eyes.

"Yes," she replied decidedly.

"Very well, then," he said gravely, and moved in the direction of the bed.

"Wait, what are you doing?" She squeaked, startled. "Artie? Put me down!"

"Certainly," he said obediently, depositing her on the bed. He laughed at her expression and sat down next to her. "What?" He asked, amused. She looked torn between astonishment and lust. It was a delightful combination, really.

She snorted a little and shrugged. One sleeve of her chemise slipped off her freckled shoulder. It was rather distracting. He couldn't figure out if he wanted to move it back in its proper place or peel the entire garment off of her. "I just didn't think you had it in you," she said, waggling her eyebrows at him deviously.

"What was that, love?" He asked sharply, cocking his head to the side.

She merely smirked at him. He was really adorable when he was annoyed, she thought to herself. "You heard me," she said lazily, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I mean, all the English people I know are so sexually frustrated. So prim and proper. God, I had this one English guy in my unit back in Toronto, and I swear—Artie!" She exclaimed, as he practically pounced on her.

She looked up at him, and he was _way too close_ to her face. He placed a hand on either side of her face and leaned over her, forcing her to retreat further back against the bed. His green eyes sparkled deviously. "I can assure you," he said, quite seriously, "that we English are actually quite good lovers."

"Right," she said, blushing profusely. God, if she wasn't still mad at him—she had good reasons, dammit—she wouldn't have been able to resist him in his stupid captain's uniform. Not with that expression on his face. She swallowed. "I guess I'll take your word for it."

He grinned, and moved down to plant a kiss on her neck. "You don't want to find out?" He murmured against her skin. She felt fire course through her body and moaned a little as he moved down to kiss her bare shoulder.

"Ah…no," she said uncertainly. She looked up at him, at his flushed face and those ridiculous eyebrows that she couldn't help be fond of and his mussed yellow hair and felt her heart clench unexpectedly. She was _not_ falling in love with him, dammit. She didn't want to be one of those girls. She wanted to have her own adventures and travel to places and dress like a man if she had to. And falling in love did not fit in with her plans. Firmly, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, sitting up as she did so.

He looked a little disappointed, but obediently sat back. "I was only teasing you," he said, scratching his head in embarrassment. "Because you always tease me. I hope you know I wouldn't actually try anything," he added. "I am a gentleman…mostly."

_Aww, he's blushing_, she thought, delighted. "Mostly," she teased. She slipped off the bed and went over to her dresser and pulled out a pair of trousers and a silk shirt. Arthur sighed as she changed, but he supposed it was for the best. Really, that American girl was going to be the death of him, he reflected, as she came bounding back over to the bed. She was too tempting sometimes. "Now," she said, "tell me how you got away from Carriedo."

Arthur sighed deeply, as the recollections of the past few hours came flooding back to him. "I might as well tell the others, too," he said, running a hand through his messy hair. "Come on."

* * *

_Why wouldn't Amelia want to fall for Arthur, you ask? Well, y'all are familiar with the Victorian era. Amelia doesn't want to be tied down to anyone. She'd be pretty free-spirited by today's standards, but back then, even more so. Joining the army, dressing in drag, kissing guys she isn't married to...also, I think she's afraid to fall in love, because it will get in the way of her dreams of going off on her own and having crazy adventures. Arthur is much more of a romantic than she is, in a way. I'll develop his feelings later. Right now, they're both just really attracted to each other. Yay sexual tension! Hope you like ;)_


	12. Ch 12- Far From Home

**A/N: Chapter title is from Of Monster and Men's From Finner, yeah. Okay, first. A formal apology to all of the poor Spamano followers who have kept up with this story. I said it was a USUK and Spamano story and it's been more of a Spamano and GerIta story, so I AM VERY SORRY FRIENDS. I have tried to ameliorate this a little bit. Secondly, shout out to mischief246, your review made me laugh for a really long time, and I'm glad you liked Ch. 11. Thanks for everyone who has kept up with this story uwu And without further delay, here is the latest update. (Also, I'm editing this as I go along, so if you get update notifications and there isn't a new chapter, I really apologize :c)**

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"I'll find a ship, don't you worry," Arthur Kirkland had told Antonio Carriedo the next day. "You get your crew together and meet at the aerodrome at seventeen hundred hours on the dot, understood?"

"Don't order me around," Antonio had responded, glaring at his reluctant ally. "Where are you going to find a ship?"

Arthur had just smirked. "Just be there."

Now, Antonio sat at the desk in his room, going over the final inventory list, waiting for the hours to crawl by so he could finally go after the vagabond that had destroyed his ship. He had decided to let his crew have the day off; after all, it was only fair that after being stranded they should have at least one day of shore leave. He even allowed himself to sleep in and have a nice breakfast before he got to work preparing for their departure. _What the hell is Kirkland planning_? He wondered. He hadn't the faintest idea how they were going to get his ship back from the Russian federation, or even where they were going to start. He walked over to his large antique trunk and procured a rather old map of Russia. It was from the 1870's, but it was still pretty accurate, and it was one of the most detailed copies that he owned. He unfolded it and smoothed out the creases, smiling fondly. He had always loved exploring, even as a young boy, and Russia had always seemed so exotic to him, so cold and different and strange, but now that he was faced with the idea of actually going there he felt uneasy. He thought of the immense danger he was putting his crew in and wondered once again if he had made the right decision. Good God, he was only twenty four. He shouldn't have to make these kinds of decisions. He sighed deeply and reached for the small cup of brandy in the top hand corner of the worn down desk. It was a little early to be drinking, but brandy always calmed him a little.

He had managed to space out a bit—it was a bad habit of his—and nearly jumped out of his skin at the loud, impatient knock at the door. He stood up quickly and opened the door, to see a very uncomfortable-looking Ludwig Beilschimdt standing there. "Oh, hello, Ludwig," he said, unable to mask his surprise. He took in the German man's unusually disheveled appearance and said, confused, "What are you doing here? I gave you shore leave. Why aren't you out with the others? It wouldn't hurt to take a day off, you know," he teased his second mate.

The blond young man held his cap in his hands and stood awkwardly in the doorway. "May I come in?" He asked, as formal as ever, despite the fact that the two men had known each other for four years. Antonio nodded, and the second mate shuffled in.

"Captain, at the risk of sounding disrespectful…"

Antonio raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and tried not to smile. Out of his entire crew, Ludwig was the most respectful. It was part of the reason why Antonio was so fond of him. Even Vash would mouth off to him sometimes, not that he minded that much. "Tell me what's bothering you, _amigo,_" he said, indicating the chair opposite him.

Ludwig sank into it heavily and took a deep breath. "Captain, I think you made a mistake concerning the Vargas girls," he said after a moment, looking his captain in the eye. "Normally I don't question your decisions, but…"

"What do you mean?" Antonio asked uneasily.

"We can't take them with us," he said bluntly. His calm blue eyes were unusually stormy. "They're civilians. I know they said they wanted to come along, but this is going to be more dangerous than anything we've ever done."

Antonio felt guilt wash over him and he felt himself slump down a little lower in his seat. When he said it like that…it did seem like a terrible idea. Suppose that their new airship was taken by Braginski's lot, and the girls taken prisoner, or killed, or worse? A dark, sickly fear rose up in Antonio and threatened to engulf him. He stared at his freshly polished boots and then back up at Ludwig. The German stared at him seriously, and he realized he was waiting for an answer.

"You're right," he said, although the words left a bad taste in his mouth. The idea of sending the Vargas girls away made him deeply unhappy, although he wasn't really sure he wanted to know why. He liked Feliciana, certainly, and he was quite grateful to her improved cooking skills—although Tino wasn't bad—and more importantly, she was a good influence on Ludwig. But it was Lovina he would miss, although he couldn't really say why. She didn't seem to like him most of the time, and cussed at him every chance she had—although she did that to everyone, he thought optimistically. And then he thought of how she had tried to cheer him up after he watched his darling ship sink into the ocean, and he felt a small smile cross his face. She was strange, but he would certainly miss her. His Lovi. No, not his Lovi. Just a girl that he had kidnapped, he corrected himself sadly. "Thank you for being honest with me, Ludwig. I wasn't…I wasn't being the captain that I should be."

"It's alright, sir," the younger man said, smiling a little. "I think you just let your feelings get in the way."

"My feelings?" Antonio repeated, frowning a little.

Ludwig smirked a little. "It's obvious to everyone that—"

"_Hej!_" A familiar voice yelled, slamming the door open. Ludwig flinched and looked over his shoulder to the doorway, where Mathias stood, grinning ear to ear.

"Got you a little something, _Kaptajn_," the Dane announced happily. "It's your favorite wine! I thought we should, you know, celebrate our new ship." He tossed the bottle at Antonio, who awkwardly caught it.

"Ah, thanks, Mathias," the Spaniard said gratefully. "That was…thoughtful."

"We don't even have a ship yet," Ludwig said, frowning at the boisterous navigator.

"Eh, I trust that little Brit," Mathias said, still smiling his goofy smile. "He's pretty stubborn. If he says he'll get us a ship, he will. Besides, it gave me an excuse to buy alcohol. I got some champagne too, to break on the hull of the ship."

"You're awfully happy about all of this," the second mate said suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the other blond man.

"Aw, loosen up, Lud," Mathias said, plopping himself down on Antonio's bed. He regarded the other two men curiously. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No," Antonio said hurriedly, not wanting to relive their conversation.

"The Vargas girls are going to be leaving," Ludwig said wearily. Now that he had accomplished his mission, he looked rather down about it, as well.

"What? Why would you kick two attractive women off of your ship? Are you mad?" Mathias cried indignantly. "I mean, yeah, Lovina is kind of a bitch sometimes, but—"

"What did you say?" Antonio growled, tightening his grip on the wine bottle Mathias had given him.

"Oh, sorry, _Kaptjn_, I forgot you had a soft spot for her," the Dane said, winking hugely.

Antonio stared at him.

"Well, you do, don't you?" Mathias said, looking a little unsure of himself. "I mean, that's why I didn't hit on her, because I thought you were interested. Hell, if I'd've known _that_—"

"Wait wait," Antonio said, jumping up. The cheerful man looked equal parts perplexed and angry. "What are you saying, Mathias?"

"Mathias, you're missing the point," Ludwig interrupted angrily, his blond eyebrows furrowing in irritation. "A pirate ship is no place for civilians. They've been here far too long as it is."

Mathias frowned. "Well…I suppose…"

"You suppose? There is nothing to _suppose—_" Ludwig said crossly, but Antonio cut him off.

"Thanks, Mathias," he told his navigator with a sigh as he stood up. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have two tickets to buy." He tried to fight the overwhelming wave of sadness that threatened to engulf him as he made his way to the docks to purchase passage back to Italy. It's for the best, he told himself. It's for Lovina's sake. But Mathias' words floated around in the back of his mind, making him uneasy. _What is she to me_? He wondered as he walked down the streets to the shipyard. _I mean, I do find her quite attractive, but then, Feliciana is attractive too. But she isn't the one I'm confused about. _It's not like he was in love with her or something, right? That would be…well…it wouldn't be right. She couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen, and, well, there was the fact that he had kidnapped her, even if it wasn't his original plan. He thought about the last time he had really loved a girl. She was about as different from Lovi as the day was from night—a blonde, bubbly girl named Bella, with a sweet, cat-like smile and green eyes that lit up whenever she saw him. Compare that to surly, blushing Lovina, who was more likely to throw something at him than give him the time of day. And yet...well, he felt sort of the same around her as he had Bella. It had been so long since he had been in love he was having trouble sorting out his feelings. He found the ticket office at the shipyard and purchased two first class tickets back to Italy—hell, he couldn't really afford it, but no way was he sending them back merchant class—and wandered around a bit. He went to sit down in a café and sat at a table by the seaside, squinting a bit to see if he could see the exact spot where his ship had gone down. He still couldn't believe the _Santa Maria_ was gone. Last night, he woke up sweating because he had relived the ship going down. It was something that would haunt him the rest of his life, he knew. He thankfully accepted the coffee that the waiter brought him and gloomily played with his pastry. He wasn't hungry enough to eat, which was just as well, because he was now almost completely broke. He sighed deeply and propped his elbows on the table, massaging his temples wearily.

"Uh…Captain?" Someone asked in surprise.

Antonio looked up sharply. "Lovina?" He asked, feeling dazed. He felt his heart flutter a little and all of a sudden, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Her wind-tousled brown hair and scrunched up nose and golden skin and foul mouth. He stared at her helplessly.

* * *

Lovina was enjoying herself for once. She had a pretty good lunch by the pier by herself and got to torture the fish by pretending to throw food to them, which she then proceeded to eat herself. It was nice to be alone for a bit, she mused to herself as she leaned on the nearly rotted wooden railing, overlooking the sea. It was definitely better than hanging out with the potato bastard and her sister, even if they hadn't been as lovey dovey as usual. Or Mathias and the other crew members, she thought with a shudder, recalling Mathias' determination to "find women". No, she had never really liked people, and she was happy here, sitting at the pier and occasionally watching other people walk by. She might as well enjoy her time here, anyway, before they left on their journey to God-knows-where after those crazy foreign pirates with those annoying _other_ pirates that had _also_ attacked them. She rubbed her temples wearily. There were too many damn pirates, and she didn't really want to deal with any of them. Or did she? She had a chance to take Feli and leave, but she didn't take it. Her stomach churned anxiously at the thought. Why didn't she take the chance? Irritated all of a sudden, she threw the rest of her baguette in the water and stormed away, determined to find that sister of hers and tell her that she had changed her mind. It made sense, right? They had even said that they could leave, if they wanted to. Feli only thought she wanted to stay, but she would get over Ludwig, Lovina knew. Hadn't she gotten over boys in the past? Sure, she would cry and sulk and moan for a few days, even weeks in that one instance, but she would get over it. And as for herself…well, there was really no reason to stay with the ship. She glanced at the delicate glass and gold watch on her wrist. It was only two, and she had nothing to do until they met up with the English bastard. She made her way over to a small café by the shipyard, where she could watch the massive man-o'-wars and frigates come and go. She had just found the perfect spot away from people—God, she really couldn't stand people—when she saw a familiar mop of mahogany curls and that silly white shirt that was open at the neck that only ridiculous Spaniards wore. "Uh…Captain?"

It was him, dammit. She felt heat rush to her cheeks and attributed it to the unusually warm March day. He looked up at her with less than his usual cheerfulness. Those bottle green eyes examined her carefully, making her feel self conscious in her less than fashionable choice of attire: one of Tino's oversized blouses and her only skirt, which flowed down to her worn-out boots. She ran a hand over her wild brown curls anxiously and fixed him with a stern gaze as he said, surprised, "Lovina?"

"I walked around town to get away from you, bastard," she said, searching for something insulting to say to cover up her flustered attitude, but it didn't sound very convincing to either of them. "Why are you here?"

Antonio looked around him as if he had forgotten where he was. "Uh…"

"I don't really care," she said as he struggled for words, and sat down in the uncomfortable wooden chair across from him. She looked out at the picturesque view and back to the pirate captain sitting across from her, looking a little lost. "I was just asking to be polite."

A tiny smile stole across his handsome features, and she frowned. "What?" She demanded.

"It's just…you being polite," he said, chuckling a little. His eyes glinted with gentle amusement.

She scowled.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Actually, Lovina, I'm glad you're here."

"What? Why?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. Why would anyone be glad to see her, besides Feli?

He reached under the table to pull out an envelope from a small satchel on the floor, and slid it over to her. "These are for you and your sister," he said seriously. The sunlight cast warm rays on his hair, highlighting the light brown in his dark curls. She felt a sudden urge to run her hands through them, and frowned at her thought process. Confused, she opened the envelope.

"Passage to Rome?" She asked, unable to mask her shock. "What…" She trailed off, stunned. The paper in her hands didn't feel quite real.

"I want you and Feliciana to go back home," he said gently, leaning across the table. She stared back at him, shocked speechless. "I know you said that you wanted to stay, but I don't want you to feel like you have to stay out of some strange sense of loyalty. You belong with your family."

"No," she said bluntly, feeling an irrational anger rise up inside of her like a storm. "What the hell? I told you that we were staying," she said angrily, surprising them both.

He frowned. "Lovi—"

"I never said you could call me that, pirate bastard," she interrupted, flicking the envelope back across the table towards him. "You just did."

"But—"

"Why can't we stay? I think you owe us that much, letting us decide what we want to do," she said crossly, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest. "You did kidnap us after all, you bast—"

"Lovi, please," he said imploringly. He reached out and took her hands, warming them in his own much larger ones. She felt a little giddy as she felt the callouses on his hands brush against her own. "Just do this."

"No," she said, shaking her head, blushing a little.

"But why?" He demanded, frustrated.

If she hadn't been blushing before, she definitely was now. "That's not important," she said, trying to tug her hands away from him. God, if someone saw them now!

"It is," he insisted with rare force. "Answer the question."

She just glared at him and muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" He asked, leaning further over the table. He had accidentally crushed his stupid little pastry with his arm when he did so, but she decided she would let him find that out later.

"I said, I want to stay on the ship. Why does it matter?" She exclaimed, eyes flashing dangerously. Why was she reacting like this? He was making her nervous, dammit.

Suddenly, those green eyes felt like they were boring into her soul. It was worse than the time when she went to confession after starting a fight with some stupid aristocrat down the street from them. She felt that same weird sense of defiance and guilt. She definitely wasn't going to tell this stupid pirate bastard that she had some kind of little crush on him. Wait, a crush on him? "I have to go," she said abruptly. "You can keep the tickets."

"Lovi," he began again, standing up as she did, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. She had to smile a little.

"Antonio, just let it go," she told him quietly.

He blinked, surprised. It was the first time she had ever used his first name. "Well," the Spaniard sighed, looking uneasy, "if you're determined about this—"

"I am," she said loudly, earning her a look from someone at a nearby table.

"Then I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing happens to you and your sister," he said, giving her that same serious look that made her a bit light-headed. "You have my word."

"Wonderful," she said sarcastically, ignoring the color in her cheeks and the way her hands were sweating a little. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my sister." She brushed by him and walked out of the café as quickly as she could. When she got back to the inn, she collapsed on her bed, burying her face in the soft pillow. "Oh, God," she groaned. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

* * *

_Translations_

_Spanish-_

_Amigo - friend_

_Danish-_

_Hej - hello_

_Kaptjn - Captain_

_Okay, was that enough Spamano for now? It was really fun to write! As much as I love writing these two (I do, I promise!), I don't think either Spain or Romano are my strongest characters, even though I really like them. I think there are other characters that I understand better, so I tend to write them more easily. Anywayyy, hope you enjoyed, Antonio finally realizes his feelings for Lovina, and I think it's safe to say that they aren't unrequited! Ah, young love...and where exactly is Arthur going to get a ship? Oh yes, and I threw in a mention of past SpaBel, because I think SpaBel is supah cute, even if RomaBel is better, cough.  
_

_Reviews are like Christmas presents to me, please let me know how my story is going!_


	13. Ch 13 - Undisclosed Desires

**A/N: An update, now with 90% more unnecessary fight scenes and Spamano! **

* * *

"This is the ship?" Amelia Jones asked doubtfully, appraising the small vessel with concern. The medium-sized dirigible looked more than a little worse for wear. The old balloon was patched in several places, some of the windows were almost too dirty to see through, and the wooden passenger car looked unstable.

"What's wrong with it?" Captain Kirkland demanded. He had gathered his crew—and Carriedo's—in the aerodrome for what he hoped was the last time. The Brit was quite proud of himself for acquiring a ship on such notice. Sure, it had taken a lot of haggling, and he had paid more than it was worth, but he had gotten a ship, like he said!

"Nothing, Captain," his first mate Kiku Honda said hastily, nudging the grumbling Scotsman next to him. "I'm sure it will serve our purposes quite nicely."

"Tch," Mathias Kǿhler snorted. He strode up and down the length of the airship, looking at it scornfully. He squinted at the peeling paint on the passenger car and read aloud: "The _Constanza?_ Nothing looks constant about this piece of shit." He kicked the hull with a booted foot.

"Carriedo, control your buffoons, please," Arthur bit out tersely to the man next to him, who looked as displeased to be there as he did. He had that spark in his eyes, like he wanted to shoot a man, and he narrowed his eyes at the tall Dane, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"It _is_ a piece of shit, Kirkland," Antonio Carriedo said, ignoring his request. "But it's all we have," he added, talking over Arthur's protests. "We should probably get going, _si?"_

"I'll be making the calls, thank you," Arthur said forcefully, glaring at his rival. "It is my ship, after all."

"You just _acquired_ it," Antonio said scornfully, making mocking quotation marks with his fingers. "You're the one who wanted to work together!"

"Just what are you insinuating?" Arthur snarled.

"I think you know, as a _privateer_," Antonio replied sarcastically. His eyes flashed when he saw Arthur reach for his pistol, but then their crews thankfully intervened.

"Captain, you did say you were going to work with this man," Antonio's first mate, Vash, reminded him, laying a forceful hand on his forearm before he could grab his weapon.

"Artie, don't let him get to you," Arthur's navigator Jack said bracingly, throwing an arm around his captain's shoulders. "Come on, shake it off, shake it off…"

Arthur shook off his cousin's arm and said, "Let's just get her in the air before I kill him—"

"You wouldn't get a hit in unless I let you," Antonio taunted, at which point Vash and Ludwig forcefully dragged him away to the gangway, where Alistair and Tino were discussing rations for the trip.

The Vargas girls watched with interest from as the two crews attempted not to fight. "You think we'll see Grandpa Roma soon?" Feliciana asked her sister. Lovina was busy glaring at Mathias, who was attempting to cajole Vash into letting him take his large store of alcohol onto the ship. She turned to her twin with serious brown eyes and studied her sister before saying, "_Si_, I know we will. You worry too much." She didn't add that she was worried as well. Now wasn't the time. "Come on. Let's go get a room before those other idiots take them all."

* * *

"The Russian Federation is centered in Moscow," Mathias explained to the small assembled group of men. "Now, Tonio and I were thinking—"

"Now hold on a mo', Arthur and I had a perfectly good plan—" Alistair interrupted.

"Will you be quiet? Mr. Kǿhler has the con," Vash said, glaring daggers at the boisterous Scot. "Please continue, Mathias."

"Right. So, if we go through the Ukraine and fly up through the south—"

"That'll never work," Jack said, shaking his unruly brown hair. "The Ukrainian airways will be far too busy during this time of year. We should go via the Baltic Sea. You can't hope to go through unnoticed—"

"You realize, of course, that March is still considered winter in Russia," the Swiss first mate said bitingly. "It will be impossibly cold, and going that far north is both foolhardy and pointless. Honestly, you lot are making this more difficult than it needs to be—"

"Now you listen here, you skinny little—"

"QUIET!" Ludwig bellowed. The men turned in surprise to see the young German man looking unusually angry. Furious color flooded his pallid cheeks as he turned to stare at all of them with contempt. "I know children better behaved," he said sternly, and despite the fact that he was the youngest in the room, the other men felt rather ashamed. "Now, we can take turns discussing this, and report back to the Captains. Mr. Kǿhler will finish with his plan, and then Mr. Kirkland—" he nodded at Alistair—"—will contribute. We will never defeat this man unless we work together, _ja_?"

"You make a good point, Lud," Mathias said. But then his blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "So back to what _I _was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted—"

"Mathias," Ludwig warned, looking aggravated again.

"Er, right," the Dane said, chuckling nervously. "So here is my plan…"

* * *

While their crews worked out passage to Russia, Antonio and Arthur were busy touring the _Constanza_—despite the seemingly unanimous dislike of the ship's name, Arthur had stubbornly refused to change it, claiming that it was bad luck to rename a ship. The two men walked down the cat walk high above the second deck, watching a few crew members scurry below them like tiny insects. They maintained a stony silence on their tour until they made it to the second floor galley, which opened out into a surprisingly spectacular sitting room. Filthy but generously portioned glass windows spanned the length of the wall on their right, while the left was lined with shelves and shelves of old aeronautical documents and classical texts in numerous languages. Celestial maps stretched over their heads and a worn, but wonderfully colored Persian rug spanned out beneath their feet. A cozy pair of armchairs and several comfortable chairs, all bolted to the floor, surrounded a round table next to the windows. Behind them, an empty fireplace loomed all the way to the ceiling, ready to serve its new masters. It was surprisingly comforting, Antonio thought, and it reminded him of the _Santa Maria. _His eyes misted up a bit at the thought.

"You got it fully furnished, then?" Antonio asked reluctantly, not wanting to be the first to break the silence, uncomfortable though it was. "That was quite a—" He cut himself off, not wanting to compliment his English rival.

Arthur turned to smirk at him, as if he knew what he was about to say. With a hearty sigh, the Englishman plopped himself down in one of the armchairs. "Yes, it was quite a feat, if I do say so myself," he said contentedly. "It's a bit shabby, but she'll do just fine until I get my darling back." He sighed again, thinking of his airship with longing.

Antonio frowned thoughtfully and looked at Kirkland carefully. He didn't look like he had back in Laos, when the two of them were fighting sword-to-sword on the beach as their crews rushed around them in sheer chaos, trying to commandeer the other's ship. Indeed, he didn't look very formidable at all, sitting in the paisley armchair like the old man Antonio secretly thought of him as, but he knew that looks deceived. Arthur Kirkland was a deadly pirate, whether or not he would own up to the title, and Antonio trusted him about as far as he could throw him. Those feline green eyes fastened on him, and he scowled. "What're you looking at, wanker?" Arthur demanded.

Antonio chuckled. "It's a wonder your crew took you back," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a real bastard." _Dios mio, I sound like Lovi_, he thought suddenly.

Arthur snorted. "Please. My crew respects me. Yours…not so much."

Antonio, who had turned to inspect the bookshelves, turned quite sharply at that remark. "What did you say about my crew?" He growled. His accent got noticeably stronger when he was emotional, Arthur noted, and he stood up, eyeing the Spaniard warily.

"You heard me, you great arse," Arthur replied, raising his thick eyebrows in a challenge. "That's why I need to be the one directing our next movements. You've made a cock-up of the last encounter you had with this Braginski bastard. The only reason I wanted to team up with you was for the sake of numbers, pure and simple. I think you're a bit barmy, to be honest. I trust that you're smart enough to realize that and that you'll defer to me and my men."

Antonio grabbed him by the lapels of his captain's coats, glaring into his eyes. "Take it back," he demanded. Arthur could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. It was too easy to toy with him. "I won't have you insulting my crew, you hear me?"

"I was insulting _you_, although your crew has its share of fools," the privateer noted calmly, clamping down on Antonio's hands and removing them from his shirtfront. He folded his arms and added, "That navigator of yours is a real—"

Antonio took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. For a split second, he debated his next course of action. Was it worth it to start a fight with the Englishman? He didn't quite finish that thought. He pulled back and socked Arthur as hard as he could in the jaw.

The privateer stumbled back several steps, clutching his aching jaw in shock. "Ah, there it is, that impulsive pirate I know!" Arthur cried triumphantly, although he was mad now, too. "You're proving my point!"

"Come over here and say that," Antonio said, panting a little. The two men circled each other like vultures flying around their prey, eyeing each other cautiously.

"You know I can't let you go with hitting me like that," Arthur stated, wiping the thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"I was counting on it," Antonio said grimly.

The blond lunged at him, only catching his ear as Antonio deftly moved to the side, leaving his side exposed. Antonio took the opportunity to tackle him, but Arthur successfully rolled him over and decked him in the nose, hard enough that his fist throbbed.

"You damb bastard!" He yelled, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders and forcing him off, so that he could break out of the mount. "I think you broke my fugging nose!"

"That's what you get for messing with an Englishman," Arthur declared, his face flushed with rage. They both jumped to their feet, panting heavily now. This time he didn't wait for Antonio to make the first move and charged him, lowering his shoulder and slamming him into the wall. Unfortunately, that left his neck vulnerable, and Antonio brought his elbow crashing down on the area where his neck and shoulder met with an unforgiving blow. Hissing with pain, Arthur sank to the ground. Antonio placed a heavy Spanish-leathered boot on his chest, glaring down at him with a tremendous ferocity.

"Tage back what you said," he said, clutching his bloody nose. "Dow." He pressed down on Arthur's chest, making him cough. But Arthur only grabbed his leg with both arms and rolled to his left, bringing the Spaniard crashing down into the nearby roundtable. The two continued to wrestle on the ground for another few moments—Arthur was a little taller, but Antonio was stronger than the slim blond man, and it would have ended badly if they had not been interrupted.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

Both men stopped what they were doing—Antonio had Arthur in a headlock, and Arthur was biting into Antonio's arm with surprising force while attempting to claw at his face. They looked up in shock, two pairs of green eyes focusing on one very angry Italian.

Lovina Vargas looked down on them with as much disdain and fury as she could muster, which was quite a lot. Her hands gripped a tray with a porcelain teapot balanced precariously on it, but she looked like she was about to bring it crashing down on a certain Spaniard's head. Her entire frame reverberated with rage. "I can't believe I actually did something nice for you fucking _idiotas_ and what are you doing? You are fighting on the ground like two little _bambini_! Get up!" She cried, slamming the tray down on the table that was dangerously close to Antonio's head. "You're fucking grown men!"

Ashamed, they scrambled to their feet; Antonio hastily relinquished his grip around Arthur's neck, and Arthur stopped clawing and biting him. "I'm quite sorry, Miss," Arthur said, looking rather abashed. "Had I known a lady was present—"

"It wouldn't have changed a damb thing," Antonio growled, as his nose began to bleed again.

"I'll fight you all day, wanker," Arthur cried, turning on him, but Lovina yelled, "NO! Now listen to me," she demanded, glowering at them, "I did not sign on to this fucking flying circus just to watch you two tear each other apart. How are you going to get anything done if you can't even get along?" She turned to Arthur, eyes flashing. "I already know what a manipulative and sneaky bastard _you_ can be," she said accusingly, "and _you._" She rounded on Antonio, who stumbled back several steps.

"You just need to get over yourself, Tonio," she said sternly. For someone who was rather small, she seemed to loom over the two of them, like an ancient fury. "Stop acting like a fucking child. God dammit. And you two call yourself captains."

"Lovi," he began weakly, holding up his hands in protest, "Lovi—"

She looked at him in disgust and, with a final glare in Arthur's direction, turned on her heel, her petticoats fluttering briefly as she stormed out of the sitting room.

Both men were silent for a complete half minute before Arthur snorted.

"Whad are you _laughing_ at?" Antonio exclaimed, incredulous, as he attempted to stop up his nose with his handkerchief.

Unable to help himself, Arthur burst out laughing, doubling over. "Oh my God," he gasped, wiping away tears from his eyes, one of which was starting to take on the appearance of a fine shiner. "I—I haven't been told off like that since I was in primary school! I think you'll be sleeping—" he wheezed, struggling to breath—"—sleeping alone tonight, Carriedo!"

Despite himself, a laugh bubbled out of his mouth. "It's not funny," Antonio snorted, biting his lip. "It's not like that—stop laughing, you _maldito!_" But now they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"I think you should talk to her, mate," Arthur said finally, when they both managed to stand up straight again. He smirked, but with not quite as much malice as before. "Before she comes back and kills us."

"Ah, she wouldn't do that," Antonio said, smiling fondly at the thought. "She's a sweet girl."

Arthur stared at him and said nothing. _That girl? Sweet?_ His expression clearly said.

"Well," Antonio continued, "we really do need to work out our navigation plans. Maybe you should try to get some work done for once."

"Sod off, I got this bloody ship," Arthur said, frowning, but the corner of his mouth twitched a bit, as if he was trying not to smile again. "I'm going to get a drink. And put some meat on _this_." He pointed at his right eye, which was now quite swollen and blue. "And your handkerchief doesn't go inside your nose, arsehole."

"It does when it's bleeding," Antonio retorted, a bit dismayed that he couldn't think of a better comeback. He dabbed at his nose again before removing the now-soaked cloth and went to go find a certain irate Italian.

* * *

"They're fucking idiots," Lovina exploded when she burst into the temporary sick bay, where Tino was making bandages out of old cloth. "I come in there with some fucking _tea_ and they're fighting on the ground like a bunch of dogs!" She continued to rant in a stream of angry Italian and went to sit by the porthole, not even offering to help Tino with his work.

"They do hate each other," Tino commented contently as he tore off another strip from an old shirtwaist. "It's kind of hard to expect them to work together immediately."

Lovina stopped fiddling with the hem of her dress and turned her glare on him.

"O-or you have a point, and they're just idiots," the Finn said, his voice wavering slightly.

She saw his nervous expression and sighed. "Sorry," she said gruffly. She really did like Tino. "I don't know why I'm yelling at you. It's not your fucking fault. I'm just—"

"Worried?" Tino offered, and flinched at her expression.

"Why the fuck would I be worried? I don't care if they beat each other to a pulp!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

Tino wisely said nothing as he placed the bandages in a container of alcohol and water to soak. A knock on the door made them both look up, and a slightly guilty looking Antonio stumbled in, holding a reddish piece of fabric to his face.

"_Hola_," he said with forced cheerfulness. Tino looked between his captain and the ferocious Italian girl, who looked ready to lash out again, and decided to excuse himself. "I'll be in the control room," he said helpfully, not bothering to make his escape subtle as he caught the door before it even closed.

Lovina said nothing as she stared at him from her perch by the porthole.

"Eh, Lovina—" He began tentatively.

"What?" She said, scowling.

"I'm sorry?" He offered, shrugging. He wasn't really sure why he was apologizing to her, but it seemed like the best thing to do.

"Like I care what you do with your stupid life, you bastard," she muttered as she turned to look out the window. The sky unfurled before her like a field of cyan flowers, with soft cottony wisps every few feet. It was the kind of scene that Feli would love to paint, but Lovi never had the patience nor the inclination for art. She glared at the filth on the windows, silently projecting her confused emotions onto the dirty ship. _I already dislike it_, she thought sullenly.

Antonio sank down into the seat closest to her with a sigh and reached for one of the wet pieces of cloth that Tino had left laying out. A small hand landed on his before he could bring it to his nose. He looked up into Lovina's warm eyes and asked, confused, "Lovi?" Ignoring him, she shifted so that she was standing over him.

"You're an idiot," she mumbled as she gingerly wiped the blood from his face. He winced a little as she pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Not so hard," he whined, but she just scowled.

"I was checking to see if it was broken," she informed him matter of factly, leaning her hip against the table so she could get a better look at him. "But it's not."

"Oh, good," he said brightly, smiling at her.

She rolled her eyes and patted down the rest of his face, and then reached for one of the rags soaked in alcohol, intending to bath the cut above his eyebrow with it.

"Wait," he began, but she ignored him and pressed it to his head, ignoring his slight moan of protest. "That burns."

"Don't be a baby," she growled, returning it to the bowl. "If you weren't busy fucking around, you wouldn't be in this situation." She dabbed at the gash, frowning as she did so. "What the hell happened?"  
"I think I hit the table," Antonio replied, staring up at her helplessly. She was so close, he could smell her natural scent, wafting off her body in gentle waves. She smelled of spices; cinnamon and ginger and clove, warm, fiery scents. Despite her harsh tone, her hands were very gentle.

"You're lucky you weren't concussed," she informed him, leaning back to inspect her work. His face was clean, and his nose had stopped bleeding, but there were various marks all over his face, including a ring of teeth marks on his right arm. "Dammit, Antonio." She sighed, closing her eyes.

Hardly daring to breath, Antonio hesitantly took one of her hands, still damp from the water, and held it up to his lips, kissing it very gently. "Thank you," he said quietly, staring up at her.

Immediately, her eyes flashed open, and her entire face became a solid, rosy color. "W-what are you doing?" She cried, tugging halfheartedly on her hands.

"Thanking you," he replied, running his thumbs over her knuckles slowly, never breaking eye contact. Those golden irises narrowed as her pupils dilated and her breathing started to come a little faster at just that small gesture.

"I didn't do it for you," she managed finally, looking away from him. Antonio smiled a tiny bit. He realized by now that she didn't always mean what she said. He couldn't see her face from where he was sitting, so he stood up slowly, not wanting to startle her.

"Are you sure?" He pressed, leaning in closer. The edge of the table now pressed into the small of her back as she moved away from him. His hands released hers and instead lay flat on either side of her on the table, bringing their bodies close together.

"Yes, I'm sure," she responded, still blushing furiously. "What the fuck do you think I meant?" She finally turned to glare at him, and wished she hadn't. His lips curled into a wide smile, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth, glinting against his permanent tan. Somehow, his hands moved from the table to her hips. If there had been any space between them, there certainly wasn't now.

One hand slowly sneaked up along her side to trace circles among the freckles on her arm. "I was hoping that was your way of saying you did care," he murmured.

"Definitely not," she said emphatically, placing her hands on his chest as if to push him away, but her fingers curled themselves into the ridiculous lace of his shirtwaist instead. "Don't be stupid."

"Am I being stupid?" He said, his voice barely above a whisper, as he pulled away slightly. With his free hand, he carefully reached out to lift the lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes when she turned her face away from him. She still wouldn't look at him. "Lovi?"

"I just think that—" She folded her arms and huffed indignantly. "You should be more careful." She hesitantly peeked up at him as she said this, and saw to her horror that he was grinning like an idiot. He _is_ an idiot, she corrected herself mentally.

"So you _do_ care," Antonio concluded, beaming.

"No! You're misinterpreting what I'm saying!" Lovina yelled, feeling all the irritation from earlier come flooding back. "Dammit, you bastard! Why would I be worried about you, huh?" She demanded.

"But you took care of me just now," he said, looking confused again. "And, and when my ship went down, you tried to cheer me up—"

"I was just being nice," she said stubbornly, scowling darkly. For a half second, he almost believed her, and he felt his lungs constrict as the air whooshed out of his body. But then he saw the way she still avoided him, like she always did when she wasn't being completely honest—and he felt hopeful again.

"Lovi," he murmured, grabbing her by the waist again. She looked up sharply. "You don't mean that." Carefully, cautiously, he edged forward and kissed her very lightly.

Her eyes widened in surprise before narrowing again. "Yeah, I do," she said, but her voice shook a little.

"Hmm," he growled, not quite satisfied with that answer. He kissed her again, longer this time, and she actually responded this time, he noted with delight. He leaned further forward, forcing her to sit back on the table or fall backwards. Her arms wound around his neck and her hands angrily tangled themselves in his hair, pulling slightly to show that she was still mad at him for earlier. The skin cells at the back of his neck tingled in ecstasy at the slight pain, and he deepened the kiss as he felt her body respond to his. He felt slightly dizzy as he felt certain soft parts of Lovina press tightly against him, desperate to get closer as they both silently cursed the several layers of fabric between their skin. One arm tightened around her waist while another moved up to cradle her head. Her lips moved against his, much softer than he expected, and he realized with delight how wonderful her mouth could be when she wasn't spewing profanities. She felt so delightfully soft in his arms. Even the angry hands that slightly tugged at his curls were soft, so much smaller than his. "Lovi," he breathed, pulling back slightly. "Does this mean—"

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, reluctantly pulling away. Those baleful eyes met his unwillingly. "Don't go around saying it, bastard."

"Ah, Lovina," he exclaimed in delight, his face lighting up with that stupid expression that she sort of liked. "You've made me so happy, _mi carino_—"

"No fucking pet names," she cried, her face flushing with embarrassment. "Gahh! That's so embarrassing, Antonio!"

"I'm sorry," he said merrily, looking not at all sorry, before pecking her on the lips again.

Lovina scowled, irritable as ever, only now she was flustered as well. She leaned back against the table and looked at him suspiciously. "Don't think this changes anything, bastard," she warned him, fixing the laces of the front of his shirt that she had—somehow—managed to undo.

"Of course not," he laughed, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her from the table. He spun her slightly, despite her protests, before pulling her back into a hug. "Lovi, I adore it when you blush," he murmured into her ear, holding her tightly. "You're so cute."

"Don't say shit like that!" She squawked, pushing away from him indignantly. "I don't know why I put up with you!"

He laughed, and grabbed her face before kissing her on the nose. "I can't help it," he apologized. For a second, he wished that they weren't on a ship headed to damn, freezing Russia to chase down a bunch of pirates. He wished they were back at his villa in Barcelona, overlooking the bustling streets and the boisterous marketplace and the tiny gardens buried within the walls of their homes. He didn't want her anywhere near this chaos. But here she was, choosing to stand by him. He felt his heart catch in his throat as he looked at her, really looked at her, this hot-tempered girl glaring up at him in his arms. Her chestnut curls had fallen out of her usual bun and now cascaded down past her shoulders, enveloping him with the heady scent of her sandalwood shampoo. The fading sun cast warming rays through the nearby porthole on her entire person, making the dust motes surrounding her look like some sort of ethereal gold dust. She glowed, simply put. "What are you looking at?" She said with a sigh, half smiling at the goofy expression on his face.

"Nothing," he said, smiling back, as he reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear. The slight contact made her flush, widening his grin. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Just don't get in trouble again," she warned him, and he saw for a moment the level of concern she actually felt for him. "Or else." Then her stomach growled, startling them both. "Ugh," she grumbled. "What's it take to get some food around here? I'm gonna go get Tino."

"I'll go with you," Antonio announced, taking her hand. She stared at it, frowning, before nodding. He grinned. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

_There you go my darling Spamano shippers. See, you only had to wait...thirteen...chapters...for a kiss. I AM SO SORRY Y'ALL I AM A TERRIBLE SHIPPER. _

_ Spanish-_

_Maldito- bastard (someone's rubbing off on you, 'Toni...)_

_Italian-_

_Idiotas - idiots_

_Bambini - children_

_Reviews are like Christmas presents! They always make me so happy uwu_

_Yay, now our crews are on their way to Mother Russia ~ This can only end well, right? Ha. Haha. This fluff is going to make up for some serious angst later._


	14. Ch 14 - Two Bottles of Whiskey

**This is a lot, a LOT of filler fluff, and I apologize. I just didn't want the crews to get to Russia just yet. Well, actually, this next passage has a bit of bearing on the plot, but the party scene is just filler (hopefully funny) but still filler. So I hope you enjoy. I think USUK shippers will, anyway. Chapter title is from the song 'Cups'. **

* * *

_7. March 1899. __Captain's Log.__ Despite a rocky start, the crew is managing remarkably well. Mr. Honda has become quite close to Carriedo's second mate, the Beilschmidt boy. As for myself, being around Carriedo and his men still tests my patience quite a bit, but I am confident that we are moving in the right direction. The _Constanza _is holding up quite well. We have maintained a steady altitude for the past few days, but in an effort to remain out of sight, Carriedo and I both agreed that we should keep the ship at least another hundred feet above the normal airways. The thin oxygen is beginning to get to everyone. _Arthur Kirkland leaned back from his captain's log and dotted the period with an imperious jab before putting his fountain pen back in its holder and strode over to the recently cleaned windows and peered outside. It was impossible to see through the massive clouds that obscured his vision, but he thought he could catch patches of Switzerland below. He sighed happily. It was so good to be in the air again. He had been landlocked far too long. He heard a knock at the door and called, without looking away, "Come in."

"Arthur, I brought the readings you asked for," his brother boomed, slamming down the thick stack of papers on the desk. "Ye sure it's a good idea for us to be flying at this altitude?"

Arthur turned from the window and made a face at his older brother. "Of course I'm sure, you git," he said sarcastically. "I did go to the Royal Air Force Academy, you know. We covered flying safety in the first month."

"Yeah, yeah," Alistair replied with a sigh, sinking into Arthur's swivel chair. "You mention that every chance you get."

Arthur smirked. "Of course I do," he informed him loftily, striding over to examine the readings. He thumbed through the lists: ballast weights, average altitude and velocity, the weight the ship was carrying, all of it was there. He nodded, satisfied. "It's one of the few things I'm proud of."

Alistair snorted. "Whatever ye say, Captain," he said mockingly. "I still can't believe that we're doing this."

"Doing what?" Arthur asked absently as he restacked the files.

"Going up against Russia's most powerful general," the Scot answered, frowning. "You look a bit distracted, Arthur."

"Hm? Sorry, it must be the low oxygen," he said, shaking his head. "I'll have to talk to Carriedo about that. Why can't you believe it?" He frowned at the redhead, who looked unusually somber.

"Well, it just seems…a bit gormless," he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He looked at Arthur seriously. "I hope you're not just doing this out of a sense of yer wounded pride, Artie me boy."

Arthur flushed in embarrassment. "It's nothing like that," he said, turning away from his brother so he didn't have to deal with his scrutinizing. "Give me some credit, you git. I'm sure we aren't the only ones with a bone to pick with the Russians. I'd be surprised if France doesn't declare war after the attack on their aerodrome. It was a civilian building, after all."

"Hmm," Alistair droned, watching Arthur begin to pace anxiously. "You're pacing...you haven't quite thought this through, have you?"

Arthur shot him a look and continued to march up and down in front of the desk. "Of course I have. I'm nothing if not logical, which is more than I can say for _you_."

Alistair frowned. "You're being a prat. I was just suggesting that maybe you should've thought this through more—"

Arthur stopped briefly and closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his head, which was beginning to ache a little. "Alistair, can't you support my decisions for once? I promised you and the others when you signed on that I would look after this crew, and I will. I'm not a child, you know. I have a plan."

"Well, maybe you should share that with the others, then," Alistair said in a rare show of anger as he stood up and slammed the chair back into place. "You weren't awake for the early morning watch, but we passed over central Switzerland, and there were three miles of destroyed cities. I think you may have bitten off more than you can chew, lad."

"You know, I hired you to take orders, not to tell me what to do," Arthur said acidly, his temper rising at Alistair's patronizing tone.

The other man's eyes flashed, the same familiar shade as his own, and Arthur felt rather guilty at the hurt he saw there. "Alright then, you little prick," Alistair growled. "I'll be in the navigation room if you need me. _Captain_." He stormed out of the room, leaving Arthur to wallow in shame for a few moments.

Finally, the Englishman sighed to himself. He didn't want to admit it, but he had stepped over a line. Even if Alistair wasn't his favorite family member, his behavior was uncalled for. He made a mental note to talk to the Carriedo about the oxygen levels and sank back to his desk, picking up his pen again.

_7. March 1899. I think I can safely say that I am a terrible captain sometimes_, he wrote with a sigh.

* * *

"There's going to be a party tonight?" Amelia chirped from her perch on the counter inside the tiny galley. She watched Toris bustle around the interior, adding the finishing touches to the crew's dinner for that night. "What for?"  
"Uh, I'm not really sure," Toris said distractedly as he snatched the fish off of the stove, hissing a little at the heat. "Something about the crews bonding. And since we're flying so high, they decided to release a little more oxygen out so everyone isn't quite so miserable."  
"Oh, good," Amelia said cheerfully. "I've had a killer headache." Actually, it wasn't that bad, but she had been using it as an excuse to avoid Arthur, which wasn't hard, given how busy he had been for the last couple days.  
"Amelia, will you grab the wine? It's almost done. And if you could please take the silverware out to the dining room—"  
"Yeah yeah, okay, _Mom_," the American girl drawled as she grabbed two fine Italian wines from the cupboard. "I'm on it." She left the tiny galley and went out to the dining room and smiled appreciatively. So far, she was enjoying their voyage. She had always liked to meet new people, and with more people, there would be more food! She set the bottles down in the middle of the table and laid out the silverware for thirteen people, humming to herself as she did so.  
After that, she left to wander around the ship. She didn't pay attention to where she was going, but remained lost in her thoughts, which mainly consisted of a certain English pirate. She frowned to herself and sighed a little. _Oh, Artie…what am I going to do with you?_ She thought. She didn't like how attached she had been feeling towards him lately. Sure, there was plenty of sexual tension between them, but that wasn't what concerned her. It was the way his grin made her stomach do weird things and the way he rolled his eyes at her antics that made her laugh harder than she should. She found herself wanting to spend more time with him than usual and missing him when he had other things to do. It was alarming, quite frankly. She wasn't used to this. Amelia leaned back against the wall and massaged her temples. Her headache was coming back. _Maybe I should avoid Artie for awhile, until I can control my feelings a little better_, she mused.

And that was how Kiku found her, sitting against the wall and holding her head. "Miss Jones? Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.  
She looked up, startled, and those blue eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, yeah," she said with an awkward laugh, flashing him her characteristic grin. "I'm super. I just had a bit of a dizzy spell."  
"I see," he mused, expressionless as usual. "Well, Mr. Lauritanius said that dinner was ready. Didn't you hear it over the radio?"  
"I guess I spaced out," she said with a sheepish grin, popping up off the floor like a jack-in-the-box. "Okay, let's get some food. I'm starved!" She resolved to put the whole Arthur matter in the back of her mind. After all, she had much more important things to think about, she told herself sternly, as she followed Kiku back to the galley.

* * *

The unfurnished ballroom of the _Constanza_ was particularly loud that warm March evening. It actually wasn't a ballroom—it had probably been a large sitting room at some point, but the two crews had moved out all of the furniture, and Tino had produced a gramophone, and with the ample stores of wine, it was guaranteed to be a good evening. To make things even more interesting, both captains agreed that everyone was a little oxygen-starved, and made sure that the oxygen vents were open and circulating. Almost instantly, everyone seemed a little less stressed.

"Much better," Kiku said quietly, as he watched some of the other men mess with Tino's gramophone and begin to dance, badly. "Everyone has been so tense for the past few days."

"Agreed," Ludwig commented from his seat next to the much smaller man. The two men had formed a fast friendship, probably because of their similarly serious personalities. "We only have a few more days until we get to Russia. I hope the captains have a plan by then…"

"_Hai_, they will," Kiku said serenely, smiling as he watched his captain squawk at his family members, who were currently taking swigs directly out of one of the wine bottles. "Captain Kirkland is a smart man. And I trust your Captain Carriedo."

"He's a good man, even if he does act rather strangely sometimes," the German young man replied, frowning as Antonio attempted to get Lovina dance to him.

"Have you know him long?" Kiku asked, taking a sip of his own glass of wine.

"_Ja_, I joined his crew when I was fifteen, four years ago," Ludwig said, smiling a little at the thought. "He was only twenty then. He had won the _Santa Maria _in a bet in Lisbon and found himself a crew that same night. He's a very charismatic man, our captain."

"I've noticed," Kiku smirked, as he continued to wheedle Lovina, who did not look very happy about all the people around her.

"Ve, Ludwig, aren't you going to dance?" Someone asked brightly. Ludwig looked away from his companion into the shining eyes of Feliciana. She had been sort of distant with him since Marseilles, but now, with a cheery Italian song playing in the background and a little wine in her blood, she was perfectly willing to put aside her qualms about him in order to dance. Ludwig looked up into her sunny, smiling face, and felt himself turn very red.

"Ah, I don't think dancing is appropriate," he stuttered, unable to meet her gentle brown eyes. "I—"

"Don't be like that!" She cried, grabbing his hand in one of her much smaller, gloved ones and pulling him to his feet with surprising force. "Don't you like to dance?"

"I am not very good," he admitted. "I think—"

"Well, if ol' Lud won't dance with you, might I have this dance?" Mathias said gallantly, appearing in front of them and sweeping the petite Italian girl a ridiculous bow. Feliciana looked surprised, and then laughed.

"Ve, alright, if Ludwig doesn't want to!" Without looking back at her friend, she took Mathias' hand and allowed the Dane to sweep her out into the middle of the floor, leading her in a spirited dance.

Ludwig sat there as if glued to his chair, a shocked and rather outraged expression on his face.

"Ludwig-san?" Kiku asked him cautiously, looking at his friend in concern.

"I—what is Mathias doing?" The younger man exclaimed, his fair eyebrows knitting together anxiously. "Why—look at the way they're dancing!" He felt incredibly angry, but he couldn't say why. Something about seeing his friend being swept around by that giant fool of a man just rubbed him the wrong way. "That's just—" He spluttered, unable to continue.

"Perhaps you should ask Miss Vargas to dance instead," Kiku suggested calmly, sipping on his wine and watching his friends in enjoyment.

"Why would I do that?" Ludwig said, turning to him with a frown.

Kiku raised a dark eyebrow at him. "It seems to me that you are jealous," he commented. "But I am just observing."

"That's ridiculous," Ludwig fumed, turning back to glare at the laughing couple. Finally, the quadrille ended, and Mathias bent over Feli's extended hand and kissed it. That did it. Ludwig felt something inside him snap. He was about to go over there and throttle the handsome navigator when Feli curtsied and walked back over to them, flopping down in the chair by Kiku with a sigh.

"I really love dancing," she said brightly, turning to the men with her thousand-watt smile. "Grandpa Roma taught me and Lovi how to ballroom dance back when we were just little _bambini_. I love it almost as much as painting!" She turned to watch her sister reluctantly take Antonio's hand for the next dance, a fast-paced tango, and grinned. "Lovi's better than me, though," she admitted cheerfully.

"Um, Feli," Ludwig said awkwardly. He stood up and brushed himself off, wishing he had worn something other than his typical uniform for once. "Would you, um, like to, um—"

"Sure!" She squealed, jumping to her feet again and grabbing his hand. "Let's go!"

Meanwhile, Mathias had gone over to the other side of the room, where a few of the others watched with varying degrees of amusement. "This ship needs more women," he announced with a sigh, leaning against the wall next to Heracles, who only smiled a little. "Don't you think so?"

"I don't really care," Heracles said with a shrug. He was just happy that there was wine. And food. He didn't really require much else to be happy. His grin widened when he saw Vash attempting to regulate the amount of alcohol Mathias consumed.

"I think you've had quite enough," the stern first mate said, attempting to wrest away the Dane's glass. "What is this, your fourth?"

"Doesn't matter," Mathias declared. "The Danes are renowned for their drinking abilities!" He held it high over Vash's head, to the irritation of the medium-sized Swiss man. "I think you need to loosen up a bit, Vash." He got louder with every glass he consumed, but no one really noticed, as Mathias was fairly loud to begin with.

Vash was the only who didn't seem to be caught up in the cheerful atmosphere. His forest green eyes narrowed in disdain. "Fine. When you're hungover in the morning, I still expect you to report for duty. I'll see you gentleman tomorrow," he informed them, saluting smartly before leaving the sitting room.

"Is he always that formal?" Amelia asked breathlessly. She had just come from the dance floor with Toris. She leaned on her Lithuanian friend as she caught her breath, grinning at the other men.

"Unfortunately," Mathias said with a deep sigh. His blue eyes raked over Amelia's heaving chest as she panted and he grinned. She was wearing her usual attire of a loose blouse and tight-fitting leather pants, but when she bent over a little, he got a pretty nice view. "I don't think we've been introduced yet. Who are you?"

"Amelia F. Jones, at your service," the American woman announced, sticking out her hand to shake. Toris winced at her side. He should have been used to her unusual behavior, but she still embarrassed him sometimes. "And you are?"

Mathias took it and kissed it, causing his friends to roll their eyes. "Mathias Kǿhler. May I have the next dance, Miss Jones?"

"Sorry," she said, with a wink. "I promised the next one to Artie." She turned to see the English captain walk over to them, frowning slightly.

"I thought I would never get those two to stop drinking," Arthur said with a deep sigh, looking over at his cousin and brother. Jack and Alistair seemed happy enough to stand by the table of food that Tino and Toris had prepared, eating more than their fair share and talking very loudly. Alistair brought out a cigar, causing Arthur's right eye to twitch in aggravation. "I've told him not to smoke in this room," he growled.

"Hey, Captain. Didja wanna dance or not? I have other offers, you know," Amelia said teasingly.

Arthur turned to her with half a scowl, trying not to smile. "You're as forward as ever," he chuckled, taking her hand for the next quadrille. He held her more tightly than the dance called for, and she remarked with a teasing grin, "I'm the forward one?"

He frowned slightly and blushed a little. "I guess I got a little annoyed at the thought of you dancing with someone else," he admitted quietly in her ear as they moved across the floor, despite Amelia's rather poor dancing. "Even if you're a terrible dancer."

"Or maybe it's you," she challenged, grabbing his hand and twirling him over his loud protests. "Maybe you just can't lead."

At that, his eyes narrowed and he got that look in his eyes that made her grin even more. "We'll see about that, my girl," he warned her, grabbing her by the waist and dipping her slightly. She laughed, amused at how easy it was to get to him.

For the next hour or so, the group could forget the danger of their situation. It didn't help that most of them were becoming drunk, and rather quickly at that. Even quiet Kiku was starting to get a little tipsy. It was a toss up over who was the most drunk, though – the Kirkland brothers or Mathias.

"I bet you can't handle _real _liquor," Mathias slurred. He leaned heavily on Antonio for support, which wasn't the best idea, because Antonio swayed a bit where he stood. "Not _really_."

"What do you mean by that, you git?" Arthur cried. His face was flushed with alcohol. He was even more of a light weight than Antonio, which was truly a feat. "Are you slighting my drinking abilities?" Despite the way the room spun around him, he managed to maintain nearly perfect English.

"I think you know," Mathias said, smirking. "Everyone knows the British—"

"Hey now," Alistair said defensively. "It's fine if you want to insult the English, but you can't go around insulting the entire British empire*—"

"Whash the difference?" Mathias asked.

Alistair looked like he was about to punch him.

"You should have a contest!" Antonio piped up merrily. "I have some harder liquor in the back!" He immediately went to fetch it, and returned with a rather mysterious bottle of something that smelled absolutely awful. "It's rum!" He cried happily. The Spaniard only seemed to get more affectionate when he was drunk. "I picked it up when we went to Barbados last summer! Ah, good times—"

"I do not see this going anywhere good," Ludwig muttered, watching them from his post against the wall. He looked like a sentry on duty, not a young man at a party. A light pink dusted his cheeks from the past hour of dancing with Feliciana, which lightened his mood a bit, but he still managed to look thoroughly annoyed.

Lovina sat next to her sister, looking rather sad, as she always did when she drank. "Quit complaining, potato bastard," she said tiredly. "Do you ever loosen up?"

Ludwig frowned at her, not wanting to reply with Feliciana sitting between the two of them.

"Ve, why can't you two get along?" Feliciana sang out.

"Because he is a potato," Lovina sniffed delicately.

"I did nothing to deserve your enmity," Ludwig said petulantly.

"You kidnapped us," Lovina returned, scowling.

Ludwig was silent.

"Aren't you going to have some rum?" Antonio asked, turning to the smaller group. Now that he had managed to placate Mathias and the Kirkland brothers, he was eager to give out as much alcohol as he could.

"_Si_!" Feliciana cried, reaching for the entire bottle.

"NO," Ludwig and Lovina said at the same time, exchanging an annoyed look.

"Captain, I think you should retire for the night," Ludwig said crossly, standing up and taking the bottle from the Spaniard.

"Ludwig, how could you betray me like this?" Antonio demanded. "All I've ever done is look out for you—"

Lovina sighed deeply and stood up. "Come on, you're making a fool of yourself," she said, taking his arm. "You should go to bed—"

"Only if you come with me, _querida_," Antonio replied saucily, slipping an arm around her waist.

Predictably, Lovina did not react well. "Don't you try that shit with me, you drunk bastard," she cried, flinging off his arm. "I'm going to bed," she huffed. "You lot have fun…"

"Wait, Lovi," Antonio called after her, entirely forgetting about his stolen bottle of rum. "Sorry, Feliciana," he said to the other Italian girl. "I will give you some rum another time!" Thankfully, he missed the dark look that Ludwig gave him as he went to chase down Lovina.

"Are ye going to give that back now?" Alistair asked Ludwig. The giant Scot looked like he was about to tip over, but he still held out a hand for the rum bottle, watching the German expectantly.

"Have you been drinking directly from the bottle?" Ludwig asked suspiciously. "That's disgusting. And no, you are not getting it back. Mathias, get down from the table."

"Aw, Lud," Mathias said with a sigh, sitting down on the table gloomily . "You're no fun. I was going to show the others the dance I had been working on—"

"No," Ludwig said humorlessly. "It's—" He looked at the grandfather clock on the wall, which mercifully had not been harmed during the night. "It's nearly three a.m. And who is on watch right now?"

"Tino," Mathias supplied helpfully. "Honestly, you think we'd just let the ship run astray…"

Finally, due to Ludwig's insistence, the party disbanded, with no help from a certain grumbling Dane. He helped Toris and Kiku move the tables and clean up the trash as the others made their way back to their quarters for the night.

Amelia had been content to sit back and watch the others make fools of themselves with Jack, but now that everyone seemed to be going, she decided to head back too. She glanced over at Jack, who was forcefully escorting Arthur to his room, and said, with a laugh, "Want me to take him off your hands?"

"Do you want to?" Jack asked her doubtfully. "He can get pretty strange when he's drunk—"

"I am not drunk, you wanker," Arthur protested angrily.

"I'll carry you," his cousin said brightly, "if you don't cooperate!"

"Fine," Arthur grumbled.

Amelia followed them back to his room, feeling a bit buzzed still, but nowhere near where Arthur was. _And how was Jack not drunk?_ She wondered. He had drunk almost as much as Alistair, and yet the Australian seemed to possess a remarkably high alcohol tolerance.

"I'm fine," Arthur muttered when they reached the door, shaking Jack off. "Really."

"If you say so," Jack said cheerfully, giving him a mock salute. "See you in the morning." He looked at Amelia and said, smugly, "Aren't you going?"

She turned bright red. "Uh, yeah, of course. I'll just be a minute." _Why did I say that_? She asked herself frantically. _I just want to make sure Arthur will be okay for the night. That's all. A hero has to look after others! _

Jack's grin broadened. "Okay," he said with a wink. "Good night then." Amelia watched him go, unable to turn and look at Arthur, who regarded her strangely.

"Want to come in for a bit?" He asked finally, opening the door to his room. "Or are you just going to stand there?"

"Uh, sure," she said, flushing again, as she followed him in. He flopped down on his bed with a sigh, acting much less composed than usual. "Um…" _Why are you acting so weird_? She chided herself. _Just get him some water or something and go_. "Are you going to be alright? You're pretty plastered…"

"Am not," he said in a muffled voice from his bed. He currently lay face down on the comforter with his arms spread out on either side of him.

She grinned a tiny bit as she sat down in the chair by the bed. "Okay," she agreed. "Man, I thought Jack was kidding. You really can't drink."

He raised his head to glare at her. "That's no way to talk to your captain," he informed her.

She laughed loudly. "Whatever you say, Artie. Do you want some water or something?"

"No."

"Alright," she said, shrugging. "Well, make sure you get some sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Wait," he said, rolling off the bed. He raced over to the door with surprising agility and leaned against the door frame, regarding her with catlike eyes.

She paused and looked up at him, with her hand on the door. "What?" She asked, tilting her head to the side and smiling at him slightly. His face was partly in shadow from the bright light of the ship's corridors.

Arthur bit his lip and regarded her hesitantly before he leaned in and kissed her, pressing her against the door. He tasted like rum, spicy and strong, and she found herself kissing him back before she even thought about it. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, leaning into him. She didn't care if this was a bad idea. She didn't care that she had told herself just earlier today that she was going to distance herself from him. All she cared about was his warm hands cradling her face like she was the most important person in the world to him and kissing her like his life depended on it. It was sweet.

And then it was not.

Her breath hitched in surprise as she felt his hands slip under her blouse, and the contact of his hands on her skin sent her emotions into a frenzy. She could still feel the alcohol from that last drink with Jack pumping through her veins, alive and hot, and thoroughly robbing her of any other inhibitions she might have had. And then, suddenly, her shirt was on the floor in front of them, and she looked up, her face as red as his.

"We should—" She began, glancing down the corridor. They were still in the doorway, for crying out loud.

"Yeah," he agreed breathlessly, pulling her into his bedroom and slamming the door shut behind them. They practically fell onto the bed, unwilling to let go of the other for even a moment. She pushed him back onto the bed, peeling his captain's coat off his shoulders as his hands crept lower down her body, hovering at the small of her back. Grinning, she lifted the tri-cornered hat off his head and placed it on her own. "You gotta call me Captain now," she informed him, grinning down at him. Her knees sank too far into the bed on either side of him and she accidentally fell forward onto his chest, making them both laugh. The feeling of her soft breasts on his body was almost too much for the Englishman.

"I don't think you've earned that title," he murmured, tugging at the belt loops of her trousers.

Her grin widened, making her look like the Cheshire Cat in the dimness of Arthur's bedroom. "We'll see about that," she said, all nervousness gone as she kissed his jawline roughly, shivering at the prickles of the five-o'clock shadow there.

"Isn't this usually the bloke's job?" Arthur commented, gasping slightly as she reached for the buttons of the front of his shirt, running her hands across his body. "Shouldn't I be the one undressing you?"

"You already took my shirt off," she pointed out, flushing slightly. _Damn, Jones, it doesn't take much for you to lose your clothes, does it? _She thought to herself with a bit of chagrin.

"You're still wearing a chemise, it doesn't count," he argued, sitting up. She slid back into his lap and regarded him with a slight pout.

"I wasn't done," she said petulantly. She liked being on top. It made her feel powerful.

Arthur gave a low chuckle and smirked at her, sending butterflies through her stomach. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and murmured in her ear, "I'll take it from here."

She frowned slightly, trying to ignore the warmth of his lips on every inch of her skin. "Artie—" She whined. "What are you doing—"

He leaned back and smirked at her, enjoying the pout on her pink lips. "Leading," he said, grinning at his own joke before going back down to kiss her again. This time, they were both fumbling around, trying to take the other's shirt off, as if it were a contest. Amelia successfully unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, sufficiently mussing his already mussed yellow hair.

He whisked off her chemise and they both panted a bit, both shirtless, taking in the other's body with no small amount of lust. "Damn," Arthur whistled, unable to help himself.

"It's not polite to stare," Amelia muttered, dragging him in for another kiss. Their breathing grew more and more ragged as the kiss deepened, and Arthur's hat fell off of her head, and they were a tangle of limbs.

"Arthur," she mumbled, her body beginning to ache for his. "Why are we still half-dressed—"

"I can fix that," he slurred against her lips, starting to feel intoxicated by more than just alcohol. Roughly, he undid the silver buttons at her hips and tugged Amelia's trousers and drawers down her long legs, laughing as she tried to wriggle out of them.

"Your turn," she ordered. He marveled at the fact that she could still give him orders when she was completely naked and he was straddling her.

"Yes, my lady," he chuckled, pink staining his pale cheeks as he slipped out of his own pants.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him hungrily, tugging at the wisps of his blond hair, sighing into his mouth a little.

God, the feel of her body against his was maddening. Sure, he had imagined this before, but this, this was actually happening. Her slender limbs intertwined with his and her strong arms pulled him in for kiss after kiss, only breaking for air. Her blue eyes blinked up at him, glazed over with lust. "Arthur," she demanded.

"Not yet," he said, even though his own body burned for hers. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck, the taut skin between her breasts. All that skin was positively addicting. He wanted to trace the imaginary lines between every freckle on her body. He drew her in for another kiss, sloppy and passionate, and tugged slightly at those blonde curls that drove him mad. She gasped against his mouth, and her back arched slightly against him. He gently kneaded her breasts, planting open mouthed kisses along her collarbone. He wanted to tease her, make her wait. But he didn't know how much longer he could wait, himself.

"You're sure about this?" Arthur asked, planting his hands on either side of her heart-shaped face. She looked a little nervous, but so was he. She nodded, biting her lip.

Slowly, he eased into her body until he couldn't tell where his body ended and hers began. Her fingers dug into his back, encouraging him to explore her body. They moved together on his bed, slow at first but gradually finding their rhythm. "Arthur," she murmured hoarsely, and he found that he loved the sound of his name on her lips.

Her warm skin, everywhere, made him dizzy, and the sweet scent of her hair and their mingled sweat made his head spin. He shifted, making them both gasp with pleasure, until he cried her name and collapsed, kissing her lazily on every bit of skin that he could. He pulled away, smiling at her flushed face and heavily lidded eyes and damp curls and sighed, laying down on the bed next to her. He turned and smiled gently at her.

She smiled back impishly, her eyes looking especially bright. "Not bad," she said lightly, kissing him softly.

He snorted. "You're insufferable, you know that?" He asked, grinning as he reached out to pull her to his side. She stiffened slightly in his embrace, but he didn't notice. "What's this from?" He asked sleepily, tracing the outline of a small scar over her right breast.

"Bayonet scratch," she replied, staring at him with an unfathomable expression in her cerulean eyes. They almost glowed in the soft light from the candle on his nightstand. "I was eighteen."

He tutted in mild concern. "And this?" He queried, brushing a strange mark on her left shoulder.

"Hunting accident," she replied, smiling a little at that one. "I used to go with Mattie and my dad during the winters, when we were younger."

"Mattie…that's your brother? Uh…Matthew?" Arthur asked. She had mentioned him before, but he always had trouble remembering his name. He wondered if he was like Amelia. It was hard to imagine two Amelias, and Arthur wasn't sure that he wanted to.

"Mmmhmm," she said drowsily. "I love him more than anything." She yawned, snuggling a little closer to him. She rested her head on his chest, her curls surrounding her head like a halo.

Arthur looked down at the girl on his bare chest and felt a dangerous swirl of emotions in his breast. "You know, Miss Jones, I do believe I'm falling in love with you," he murmured into her hair.

Immediately, Amelia went rigid, and sat up sharply, letting the covers fall back from her naked chest, but Arthur had fallen asleep. He looked so vulnerable without his semi-permanent frown or those damn eyebrows obstructing his beautiful eyes. But his words reverberated in her entire being as she tried to focus. _Did he just say what I thought he said_? She wondered, her mind reeling. Arthur wasn't one to kid around, at least not about something like this. She bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to bloom there. _Dammit, Artie! Why did you have to say that?_ She wanted to leave then, but his unconscious arm still weighed heavily against her stomach, holding her there with him. She sighed and resigned herself to staying at least for a few hours. She didn't want to wake him. She looked down at his sleeping form and felt her heart swell with emotions that she didn't want to acknowledge. Grudgingly, she lay back down, snuggling deep under the covers. _Might as well be comfortable_, she thought, and closed her eyes. _Just until morning_.

* * *

_Hope you guys enjoyed the update! Uh, yeah, I've never written a sex scene before, so I implied a lot of it, because writing explicit stuff just makes me uncomfortable...but I hope you enjoyed it anyway!_

_**Kunikohime Madoka Tanuki:** You often leave me reviews and I really appreciate it! You asked if there will be any Denmark x fem! Norway (did I genderbend Norway? I don't even remember, man.) Unfortunately I'm gonna say no, just because this last chapter was fairly difficult because of the sheer number of characters. Sorry about that, everyone. I jumped around a lot in an attempt to address everyone, so I hope it flowed alright. But yeah, to answer your request, there probably won't be, because I'm busy enough with USUK and Spamano as the main ships and GerIta on the side (I have more cooked up for them later, I'm super excited!)_

_Now things are going to get interesting, and probably a little depressing, for Arthur because...well, you'll see. _

_And the crews get ever closer to Russia..._

_By the way, I hope y'all enjoyed drunk!Denmark, because he gives me joy to write ;)_


	15. Ch 15-The Waiting Game

**A/N: I'M SORRY THE UPDATE TOOK SO LONG. I started working on another story a few days ago (starring my adorable Denmark! 'There is a Lovely Land', if you're interested!) and I work like 30 hours a week, so...I've been really busy...and I've also had writer's block. I'm sorry, y'all.**

* * *

Arthur woke up to find himself completely cold and quite hung over the next day. He shivered on the edge of his bed and wondered why all of the covers were on one side of the bed. He groaned and sat up, holding his head, which began to throb badly. _How much did I drink last night?_ He wondered, trying to get his disorderly hair to lay flat for once. And then, the memories of the previous night came flooding back to him, and he felt an idiotic grin cross his face. But then he frowned when he looked over and saw that the spot next to him was empty. _Ah, she probably didn't want everyone to realize she spent the night here_, he reasoned. _She didn't have to steal all the sheets, though._ He reached over to tug the covers back over his head to sleep for awhile longer, but the sound of paper crinkling distracted him. Curiously, he shook out the sheets, and a crumpled note flew out and delicately floated down into his lap. Unfolding it, he read:

_It was a mistake. I was drunk. I'm sorry. –Amelia _

It took awhile for the words to process in his drowsy, hung over state. He frowned at the paper and turned it over, as if expecting something else. But no, that was all it said. Finally, the truth began to nibble away at the edges of his mind, and he felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the chilliness of his room crawl over his skin. He felt sick. He stumbled out of bed and ran to the adjoining bathroom and barely made it to the loo in time before he threw up. After several agonizing moments, his stomach settled down, and he pressed his forehead to the cold bathtub, shivering in the blankets that he had clumsily grabbed. He felt like shit. He had been hung over before—this was far from the worst—but he knew it wasn't the alcohol that made him feel so awful. It was Amelia. _What did I do? _He wondered, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright light that leaked in the bathroom from his bedroom window. He remembered kissing her against the door, falling into bed, their clothes disappearing, and...

_"You know, Miss Jones, I do believe I'm falling in love with you."_

The words from only a few hours ago came rushing back to him, and Arthur felt like he was going to be sick again. He made a mental note to never, ever drink again, because it _always_ brought out his sentimental side, as Alistair was fond of reminding him. "_It was a mistake." _God, how could he possibly face her now? What if she remembered? How drunk had she been? He tried to think. She had been drinking, sure, but she wasn't the one who had been leaning on Jack the whole way back to his room. He felt nailed to the floor, and he wasn't sure that he ever wanted to move. He pressed his forehead harder onto the cold tub, welcoming the pounding ache in his head. Anything was better than thinking about Amelia at the moment. He must have fallen asleep there, because when he awoke, someone was yelling in his bedroom.

"Kirkland, where are you, you lazy bastard?" Antonio yelled.

Groaning, Arthur looked up, squinting, and saw that his fellow captain had evidently let himself into his room, and was now pacing about, lifting up sheets and pillows, looking for him, apparently. "You were supposed to take my shift so I could go to lunch with Lovi and Heracles, you damn Englishman, and—oh, there you are," he said brightly, upon spying Arthur. "Uh…why aren't you dressed?"

Arthur blinked and looked down at himself. He had one of his sheets wrapped around the waist, toga style, but the rest of him was still completely naked, in all of his pale glory. He looked around, confused as to what he was doing in the bathroom, but then he remembered. He groaned again and forced himself to his feet, holding the sheets around his waist in one hand, and holding his head in the other. "What are you going on about?" He groused, glaring at the Spaniard. "And who let you in my room?"

"The door was unlocked," Antonio admitted, having the decency to look a little ashamed when he saw Arthur in his rather disgraceful state. "Ahm…are you alright?"

Arthur gave him a look that could make flowers wilt. "Do I look bloody alright to you?" He said without his usual bite, rubbing his head. "I'm going to get a drink." _Forget what I thought earlier, I definitely need some alcohol._

"But you just woke up," Antonio said, frowning. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, blocking Arthur's exit. "And you're clearly hung over."

"Clearly," Arthur agreed, shouldering past him roughly. "I can't be expected to handle this sober."

"Handle what? Your crew? Get a grip, _amigo_, we have work to do," Antonio said bracingly, turning to follow Arthur.

"No. Get out." He collapsed on the bed in a most undignified manner, pulling the sheets up over his head like a little child.

"Kirkland," Antonio sighed, tugging at the sheets. "Come on. We're only a few days out from Moscow—"

"I don't fucking care. Get the hell out!" He yelled, muffled by the pillow.

Antonio finally stopped tugging at the sheets and stepped back from the bed, looking a little concerned. "Eh…it's not really any of my business, but…are you alri—"

"GET. OUT." Arthur's tousled head appeared, and his eyes flashed dangerously. There was a murderous glint in the Englishman's eyes that made Antonio step back instinctively.

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands defensively. "Don't get your drawers in a twist. If you're not out in an hour, though, I'm sending in Ludwig after you!"

"'M not afraid of him," Arthur mumbled into his pillow, but the slam of the door told him that Antonio had left. Sighing heavily, Arthur curled up on his side and squeezed his eyes shut against the sunlight that forced its way into his head, trying not to think about anything at all.

* * *

Feli sat in an alcove in the radio room, absently sketching as Alistair and Mathias argued about their course.

"We could stop off in Kiev, refuel, maybe pick up some extra weapons—"

"Or we could go via the Baltic, like I suggested, stopover in Vilnius, and do the same thing—"

The Italian girl had almost perfected her caricature of the two of them. She looked up at them, peered closely at Mathias' trademark spiky hair, and carefully shaded in the stubble on Alistair's face. She frowned at the smudges from her left hand and leaned back to peer at her work. It wasn't her best, but then, she had always been better at painting, and she didn't exactly have time to grab her easel before leaving Italy.

"Feli!"

Feliciana looked up, startled. "_Cosa?_ What is it?"

"You're as absent minded as Antonio," Mathias said fondly, ruffling her auburn hair. "I said, can you go get Ludwig for us? He's supposed to take over Alistair's watch but I haven't heard from him."

"Ve, I can do that," she said amiably, laying the sketchbook down on the seat. She made her way down the now-familiar passageways of the _Constanza_, running her hands along the aluminum walls of the ship as she made her way to the first deck, where the crew cabins were. She hesitated for a moment outside of the tall steel door of no. 57 before raising her hand to knock. No answer. She decided to try the door, and to her delight, the handle turned easily. She slipped inside and called, "Luddy?"

Still no reply.

Her brown eyes swept the immaculate room. The bedsheets were so tightly tucked in that she could bounce a coin off of them; his collection of flying manuals and personal books were arranged in alphabetical order on the bookshelf; no dust was visible on any of the furniture. It didn't look lived in. "Ludwig? Are you in here?" She called again. She was about to leave, but a framed photo caught her attention. Curiously, she walked over to his nightstand. On top of a German Bible rested a slightly aged photo of two smiling boys, dressed in identical uniforms. The taller boy, with strangely pale hair, had his arm around the smaller one's shoulders and shot the camera a huge grin. It was hard to tell because of the brown tint of the photograph, but the boy's eyes looked almost red. Feli felt slightly dizzy all of a sudden as her eyes moved to the smaller boy, but she knew it was Ludwig even before she recognized the serious expression, despite the shy smile, and the kind blue eyes that studied the photographer curiously. Her hands began to shake, and the photograph fluttered to the ground.

_I knew it was him_, she thought, her mind reeling. _I knew he was really Heinrich*. But why…why would he lie…_

In her mind, she was no longer on the _Constanza, _but running through the streets of Florence, hand in hand with her best friend and future fiancé, Heinrich.

_"Come on! You promised me that we would go to Cathedral Square today! You promised, Heinrich!" The much smaller girl dragged along her closest friend, a tall, fair-haired German boy. She tugged on his hand impatiently, leading him behind the stalls of the merchants and skipping past the nuns on their way to the early church service. _

_ "Slow down, Feli," the boy panted. "I've never seen you run like this before…except when it's time for dinner."_

_ She laughed, letting go of his hand as she darted ahead, ducking under a tomato merchant's cart, to the dismay of the seller, and Heinrich as well. "Feli! Please be careful!" He called in his heavily accented Italian, straining to catch up with her._

_ For a moment, he lost sight of the tiny, auburn-haired girl, and he felt like his heart was about to stop. "Feli!" He cried, frightened. There were too many people in the square. He fought his way through them frantically, calling, "Feli! Feli!" Finally, he spotted her, standing directly in front of the massive cathedral, looking up with a positively angelic expression on her face._

_ "Isn't it wonderful?" She said with a sigh, glowing with the exercise of the warm Italian day. _

_ "Don't run away like that," Heinrich scolded, taking her hand shyly. His cheeks pinkened slightly when she turned that beatific smile on him, all chubby apple cheeks and bright golden eyes. "I thought I lost you. And anyway, you've seen this before," he added._

_ "But I haven't seen it today!" She exclaimed seriously. "This is the first time I've seen it today!" The chubby six-year-old lifted her face to the sky, pointing at the birds that rested on the top of the dome. "Can we go up there, Heinrich?"_

_ "No," the eight-year-old said definitively. "It's much too dangerous."_

_ She turned to him and pouted. "Aw, Heinrich, you're no fun…but I still like you!" She added with childish glee, kissing him on the cheek affectionately._

_ Heinrich turned bright red, practically glowing in his solitary black clothing. "Feli, you can't do that!" He exclaimed, swiping at his cheek. "That's not—that's not appropriate!"_

_ "But we're going to get married! That's what married people do! And Grandpa Roma does it all the time!" _

_ Heinrich tutted slightly. He did not approve of Feliciana's grandfather. "I know," he said, still blushing. He wished that she would look at him the way she looked at the magnificent church in front of them. "But you shouldn't do it. You're only a little girl."_

_ She laughed again. "Ve, okay! Ready to go home now? Mama's making spaghetti for lunch!" _

_ "Yeah," he said, nodding. He loved Feli's mama. His brother's cooking was not half as good as the Italian woman's. _

_ "Ve! I'll race you back!"_

_ "Wait, Feli—"_

_ "Ready, go!" She took off running again, leaving him stranded in front of the church. With a heavy sigh, he took off after her. _

Feliciana pulled herself out of her reverie, unconscious of the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. A month after that day, he had disappeared out of her life forever. She was heartbroken. He was her best friend, and Grandpa Roma said that when they were older, they were to be married. His mother was from one of the finest families in Germany, and his father was an old friend of Grandpa Roma's. His brother, a few years older, had always played with Feli and her sister when they were younger, and told them about how he was going to join the Prussian military when he was older. That was how Feli knew that Heinrich and Ludwig were the same person—she recognized his older brother from the photo, as well as Ludwig. There was no way that it was a coincidence. So then…why did he leave? And why did he lie to her? All of a sudden, she couldn't stand to be in his room. She ran out of the room, completely forgetting that Mathias had sent her to find Ludwig, and bolted to her room as fast as she could, fighting back the hiccuping sobs that threatened to burst out of her chest. She made it to her room just in time to see Lovina sitting at their shared desk, writing a letter. "Lovi," she choked out, and her sister looked up, startled. "Feli? Feli, what's wrong?" In a rare show of concern, Lovi stood up clumsily, knocking over her chair as she ran over to her twin.

Feliciana wrapped her arms around her twin and hugged her so tightly that Lovi gasped a little, but for once, she didn't chastise her sister. "Feli, tell me what's going on," she instructed her calmly, sitting her down on the bed that they shared.

"Ludwig…he lied to me," she managed, her voice cracking. The words stuck in her throat so that she could barely speak. "I don't understand wh-h-h-y—" Her voice rose in a sob, and she buried her face in the bodice of Lovina's dress, like she did when they were younger and she would came in from playing with scrapes on her knees.

Lovina felt her blood run cold. _I knew that bastard was trouble_, she thought immediately, but she forced herself to inquire, "What do you mean? What did he say?"

"You know how I told you he looked familiar?" She sniffled.

"Mmhmm," Lovi encouraged, stroking her sister's hair.

"W-well, I was right. He's Heinrich. I don't know why he's going by a different name, but I know it's him. I found a picture of him and Gil, from when we were little," she explained, wiping her running nose.

Lovina half-smiled at the mention of Heinrich and Gilbert—she remembered them, but she hadn't been friends with them like Feli was. "How is that possible, Feli?" She asked reasonably.

Feli turned her face away from Lovi with a surprisingly angry expression on her face. "I know it's him, Lovi! I saw the photograph! I'd remember Heinrich anywhere!"

"Okay, okay," Lovi said, leaning away from her twin's biting words. "I'll go talk to him, _sorella_." _And by that I mean beat his sorry ass_, Lovi thought grimly, standing up.

"No! You can't!" Feli cried, tugging on the sleeve of her dress.

"Too damn bad," Lovi grumbled, gently pushing her sister back down on the bed. "Go wash your face. You look awful."

"Thanks," she said, looking up at her with a watery smile.

"Don't thank me yet," Lovi said darkly.

* * *

Out of all of the things Ludwig did not expect, being ambushed by an angry Italian girl in the middle of the afternoon was not one of them. He had been sleeping in the back of the galley in the only comfortable armchair on the entire ship because he hadn't been sleeping at night. It was all because of Feliciana, too. Why did she look so damn familiar? He laid awake at night, thinking of her face, scrutinizing it in his mind's eye, but to no avail. On top of that, he was worried about his crew. Antonio had been showing signs of stress lately, whether or not the Spaniard would admit it—he had been drinking more and laughing less, and he spent more and more time in the control room, talking with his other officers and Kirkland late into the night. Vash seemed even more tense than usual, and even mild Heracles had snapped at him the other day for leaving the helm unattended. He wished this expedition was just over already.

He sighed and tried to fold himself into a comfortable sleeping position in the armchair, but all of a sudden—

"There you are, you bastard!" Lovina yelled.

Ludwig's eyes flashed open in shock to see Lovina grab him by the collar of his freshly pressed uniform and haul him to his feet.

"I've been looking everywhere for you! You damn potato bastard, I knew there was something off about you!" She exclaimed, shaking him vigorously. "I oughta punch you! Making my _sorella_ cry like that—"

"Wait, what's wrong with Feliciana?" Ludwig exclaimed, unsuccessfully attempting to pry her hands off of his collar. She was so much shorter than him that he practically had to bend in half for her to hang on to his shirt jacket like she was. "Why is she crying?"

"Like you don't know!" She shouted. She released her death grip on his collar only to start whaling on him with her bare fists. "You—fucking—pirate—bastard—" She beat on his chest with every word. It didn't hurt him much, but her words shocked him.

Instinctively, he grabbed her wrists to stop the assault, and she gave a cry of fright. "Don't touch me!" She cried, wrenching away from him.

"I—but you hit me—" He exclaimed in frustration. He had no idea what was going on. He had never seen Lovina Vargas so angry before, and he had seen her angry plenty of times. He backed away from her, raising his hands in surrender. "Listen, I don't know why you're so mad at me, but—"

"As if you don't know!" She seethed, pointing a finger at him accusingly, but she made sure to keep a few feet between them this time. Not like she was afraid of him, but all the same, he was kind of intimidating…

"I _don't_ know," Ludwig said, scowling. He folded his arms defiantly, trying not to lose his temper. "Why don't you tell me?"

"You lied to my sister," Lovina informed him flatly, giving him a look full of loathing and disdain. "About who you are. She really cared about you, you know," she added, in a quieter tone, looking away from him. "But you fucked it up this time, blondie."

Ludwig's eyes widened in shock. "I didn't! I would never lie to her!" He protested. "Please…" He hesitated. He didn't ever want to ask Lovina for anything, but… "Please, Lovina. I really don't know what you're talking about. If you would explain—"

"God, you're disgusting. If you ever come near my _sorella_ again, I'll…I'll bash your head in! So don't do it!" She warned, spinning on her heel and flouncing out of the sitting room. She slammed the door for effect, leaving one very stunned German in her wake.

He sank down into the armchair, his head spinning. _What just happened? _All of a sudden, he found himself wishing for his older brother's friend, Francis. _Francis always understood women better than I did_, he mused, chuckling a little. _What would Francis tell me to do…_

Immediately, the answer came to mind: _Go talk to Feliciana_.

He knew he had to. He had to clear up whatever she thought had happened. And not just that, but…he flushed a little. Maybe there were one or two other things that he wanted to tell her, as well. He paced the interior of the room, marching back and forth in front of the fireplace with practiced steps. _Just go. Talk to her. _

_ I can't._

_ Don't be a coward._

_ I'm not a coward! _

_ Then why are you pacing in this cramped little room instead of talking to Feliciana?_

He sighed deeply, massaging his temples tiredly. His inner voice of reason always won out, even when he didn't want it to. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and went off to find Feliciana.

* * *

"I see you finally decided to show up," Antonio remarked when Arthur entered the control room later that day. He looked up from his paperwork and half-smiled at the Englishman, but Arthur only grunted noncommittally and walked over to the window. He stared out at the darkening sky and pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

"How far are we from Moscow?" He murmured.

"What's that?" Antonio asked brightly.

"Moscow. How far?" Arthur replied tersely.

"Only three more days, Mathias said," the Spaniard replied, studying his former nemesis carefully. "We'll need to be in top shape, too. I asked your friend Amelia to teach Lovina and Feliciana how to shoot."

Arthur stiffened slightly at the mention of Amelia's name, but only nodded. "Good. We'll have them watch the ship when we land. Beilschmidt, too. He's far too young to be on an expedition like this."

Antonio frowned a little at that remark. He put down his pen and stood up, crossing over to where Arthur stood, and studied the sky next to him. "I'd rather not, although I agree with you," he admitted. "He's only nineteen, but I'd rather have him with me than without. He's a damn good fighter, and he's about the size of a house, too."

Arthur sighed. "Alright. That's fine. Three should be enough to watch one ship, and it'll keep them out of danger."

"Three?" Antonio asked, turning to him in mild surprise. "What about Jones? She was telling one of my men that she served in the American army a few years ago—"

"She stays on the ship," Arthur said flatly.

For once, Antonio picked up on the mood, and didn't comment.

They stood side by side, watching the sky turn from a dusky rose to a dark umber and then to a deep maroon, and finally black.

"A bloody sunset," Antonio remarked, to break the silence. "It's good luck. For pirates, anyway."

"I'm not a pirate," Arthur protested, turning to frown at him.

Antonio raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "I think you may be in denial, _amigo_," he said. "Aren't we going to Moscow to possibly start an international war and steal back your ship and avenge mine? Doesn't that sound like pirating to you?"

"It sounds like revenge," Arthur returned, sniffing. He folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. "I was a Royal Airman. I have a code of honor, and as an Englishman—"

"Pirates have honor, too," Antonio argued.

"Except for Braginski, apparently," Arthur said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned and leaned back against the glass, wishing his headache would go away already.

"He doesn't count. He's probably just acting on orders," Antonio mused. "What would a single general have to gain from going rogue, anyway?"

"We should probably figure that out," Arthur admitted. He didn't want to admit it, but Antonio raised a good question. He thought back to what Alistair said about being too hasty about this expedition and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

"You haven't?" Antonio said, alarmed. "Dammit, Kirkland! What have you been up to these last few days?"

"T-that's not what I meant," he said. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "We've been over the plan. It's not foolproof, but it's a good one. We just need to be ready."

"Right," Antonio grumbled. "Famous last words."

"Oh, come on," Arthur said, laughing in spite of himself. "Don't you trust me by now?"

"Against my better judgment," Antonio said with a sigh. He went back to his desk and reached under it for a bottle of cognac and poured himself a glass. "Drink?"

"God, yes."

He handed him a glass, and Arthur took it gratefully.

"Say…why do you trust me, anyway? We haven't exactly had the best time together," Arthur said conversationally, swirling the alcohol around in his glass instead of looking at Antonio.

The other pirate sighed heavily and began to pace in front of the windows, his hands behind his back like a soldier. "Well, you weren't the one who lost your ship."

Arthur choked on his drink a little. He hadn't been expecting _that_. "Er—that's not entirely true, I mean, the _Victoria_ is gone—"

"Yeah, because I kidnapped you. You know what I mean, Kirkland," Antonio said, staring hard at the ground as he continued to pace.

"I see."

An awkward silence fell.

"Well, I have the first watch tonight. Get over your hang over soon, _si_?" Antonio said with half a smile. He didn't want to dwell on the subject. "You have the second watch."

"Er, right. And, ah, Carriedo," Arthur said awkwardly, as the other man turned to leave.

Antonio was already half out the door, but he turned back, poking his head in. "_Si_, what is it?"

"You're not…a bad captain," Arthur said, scratching his head uncomfortably. He wasn't good with comforting anyone, let alone a former enemy. "We'll get you a new ship, yeah? Better than the _Santa Maria_."

Antonio laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. "That's a lie. The _Santa Maria _was the best damn ship this world has seen, and you know it. Go get some rest. You look like shit."

"Yeah, you can screw yourself, you—" But the heavy door slammed, and Arthur didn't get to finish his insult. "Wanker," he concluded, smiling a little. Despite his headache, he felt a little better.

* * *

_*Heinrich is my headcanon name for the Holy Roman Empire, so yes, this was an allusion to the similarities between HRE and Germany in actual Hetalia canon._

_Please don't hate me for making Arthur so sad. It's just...you can blame actualhippo. It is actually all her fault. Also you should read her Spain/fem!Romano story, The Curse of the Highwayman. Just saying. We just like to make Arthur Kirkland suffer _✿◡‿◡

_So, recap: we have angsty Artie (my favorite kind of Artie, to be honest), problems with GerIta (Ah! Now we know why Feli was acting strangely around him! Don't worry, you'll have Ludwig's side of the story soon enough, and why he goes by Ludwig now...not for awhile, actually, because they'll be in Russia in this chapter or the next. But you'll find out ;)) and awkward bro time with Antonio and Arthur. _

_T-minus three days til Moscow...what does Arthur have planned? _

_Reviews are so nice, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and please let me know how I'm doing if you have the time! _


	16. Ch16- Guns and Girls

**A/N: Ah, finally some interactions with my favorite ladies! uwu They're so cute and ah lady friends I love nyotalia I LOVE nyotalia Hetalia needs more lady characters wah**

**Also this semi-recent update after Ch. 15 is an apology for not updating sooner**

**Hope you like. Next chapter is gonna get crazy, strap on your seatbelts kids.**

* * *

"It's easy," Amelia explained to the Vargas girls, holding out her favorite pistol for them to inspect. She hadn't expected to find such a high quality pistol in Marseilles, but she did—the Smith & Wesson .38 Special fit her hand like it was made for her, and it was a damn sight better than Artie's old Derringer. Besides, everyone knew that English brands were inferior. "This one gets six shots per round, and it's easy enough to fire. You just fire by cocking the hammer." She quickly and expertly loaded it and shot it at the caricature she had Feliciana draw, pinned to the wall opposite them. She hit the Braginski drawing square on the nose, and grinned. "Of course, I also have a shotgun if you'd prefer something bigger. I don't know if you'll be strong enough to use it, though," she added doubtfully, noting the Italian girls' smaller frames. She had at least four inches on both of them, and a good deal more arm strength. She deposited the pistol on a nearby table and went to pick up the 1897 Winchester shotgun that lay against the wall. "Lovina? You wanna give it a go?"

"No," the brunette said sullenly. She hated guns. They were extremely loud, and they scared her a bit, to be honest. When Grandpa Roma used to go hunting she was always afraid that he would come back with some horrific gunshot wound. He never did, but it didn't stop her from worrying. Not to mention Gilbert used to chase her around with a pistol, not bothering to tell her that it wasn't loaded. Damn Germans. She wasn't going to admit that to this woman that she barely knew, though.

Amelia frowned. "At least try! Antonio said you should know how to fire, just in case—"

"I don't take orders from that bastard," Lovina snapped, taking the gun from her anyway. "Like this, right?" She propped the shotgun awkwardly in the crook of her arm.

"Ah, no," Amelia said quickly, fixing her hand placement. "Let it rest on the muscle above your breasts. Yeah! And hold it like this. There you go. If you hold down the trigger, you can fire repeatedly—don't do it now!" She said frantically, when Lovi aimed at the poster. "I'm pretty sure Arthur will be mad about the bullet hole I put in the wall as it is…" She sighed, running a hand through her curly hair.

"How will I practice, then?" Lovi asked petulantly, turning to her, and swinging the gun with her.

"Don't point it at people!" Amelia yelled.

"Sorry!" Lovina sputtered, blushing with embarrassment. "Uh…I think I'll just stick to a pistol. This is too heavy." She set it down with a sigh, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Okay," Amelia said wearily. "Feli, you want to give it a go?"

"Ve, okay," Feliciana agreed. She lacked her normal bubbly attitude, but willingly took the gun. She managed to get her posturing right immediately, and held the shotgun up, closing her left eye as she pretended to aim at the target.

"It's a pump action," Amelia explained excitedly. "And the '97 model is so much better than the '93! It helps you shoot straighter. Just guide the gun with your body. That's it," she said encouragingly, beaming. "It's a short range weapon, which isn't ideal if you'll be shooting from the ship, but you should be well away from the fighting anyway, so hopefully it won't matter."

"Can I try firing it?" Feli asked, stroking the smooth stock of the gun.

"Well," Amelia said hesitantly. "I could just give you blank shots. Load them into the port under the receiver," she instructed, handing her a fistful of blank cartridges. "When you pump the gun—" She pantomimed pumping a weapon –"it loads the cartridge into the firing chamber. Then put your finger in the ringer guard, and pull the trigger."

"Got it," Feli said, an unusual amount of concentration creasing her cute face. Her brown eyes narrowed as she took in her target. She propped the gun up like before, pumped it once, and put her finger in the guard. She held it down for only a few seconds, firing a series of blanks only a few inches above the poster.

"Great!" Amelia said, giddy with excitement. She hadn't had a chance to use her Winchester, but man, had she missed it! "You're a natural!"

Feliciana beamed at the praise, smiling warmly at the older girl. "Thank you!"

Lovina scowled, watching the two of them. "It's not like it matters, right?" She said, when Feli ejected the rest of the blanks into her hand and returned the gun to Amelia. The other two girls turned to stare at her, confused. "We won't be there, right?"

"Of course it matters," Amelia said in a rare moment of seriousness. The American girl put her hands on her hips and frowned a little bit. "Don't you want to know how to defend yourself?"

"I don't really like guns," she mumbled.

"Lovi's scared of them," Feli said affectionately, throwing an arm around her sister's shoulders.

"I am not!" Lovi protested.

Amelia's expression softened, and she smiled. "It's okay," she told the other girl gently. "I have a brother, and he never liked guns that much either. But it's better to know how to use them safely than not at all. If you do end up needing one and you don't know how to use it, you could hurt yourself. And I can't let that happen!" She added, flashing her another grin and a thumbs up.

Lovi sighed deeply at her posturing. "Yeah, yeah," she grumbled. "Can we get something to eat, though? We've been in here for an hour and a half." She looked around the empty storage room, shivering a bit. It was located on the very top deck on the north side of the ship, so it was pretty damn cold, even though it was nearly April. They were only one day out from Kiev, and at night it dropped well below freezing.

"Yeah, okay," Amelia agreed, grinning at the sisters. It made her miss Mattie to watch them together. "Good work today, soldiers!"

Feli mock saluted her, causing Lovi to groan. "Let's just go." She stalked ahead of the other two girls, grumbling to herself.

"Your sister's pretty grumpy," Amelia commented, easily falling into step with the much smaller Feliciana as they walked to the galley. "Did I say something?" Mattie always told her she could be pretty blunt, but she couldn't remember saying anything offensive. Of course, most things that other people found offensive didn't bother Amelia at all.

"Oh, no, she likes you," Feliciana said warmly. "She thinks you're very brave."

"And crazy," Lovina shot back, turning to face them. "Don't forget crazy."

Amelia just laughed.

The galley was empty except for Mathias and Toris, who were eating a late lunch when the women came in.

"How did shooting practice go?" Mathias asked, grinning when Lovina blatantly refused the seat he offered to her. "I see that Lovi didn't kill anyone."

"It went great," Feli gushed, helping herself to a serving of the potato stew Toris had made. She sat down in the alcove by the window, looking happier than she had in days. "Amelia says I'm a natural!"

Toris and Mathias stared at her uncertainly for a moment. It was kind of a scary thought, imaging clumsy, petite little Feliciana with a gun. Maybe she was like Tino. He didn't look very intimidating, but he was the best shot on board, not that Mathias would ever admit it.

"You ready for the flyover tomorrow, Mathias?" Feli asked anxiously, turning to face the Dane.

He grinned hugely, looking cockier than ever. "Sure am," he replied. "Although I don't know if Vash is. He's not very excited about being dropped off in enemy territory."

"He'll have Antonio," Toris pointed out. "He knows what he's doing. But it's just as well that Vash speaks Russian, or we'd be in quite a bind. I still don't know how he's going to sneak into the headquarters at Moscow."

Amelia scowled darkly at the mention of the Russian Federation. "He'll be fine," she said confidently, aggressively soaking her bread in soup. It still made her mad to think about the attack on the Marseilles Aerodrome. "He looks _exactly_ like one of those damn Ruskies. I never got his name, but they could've been twins. Same hair, eyes, even the same height. The other guy talked a little strangely, though."

"Feliks," Toris said suddenly, and the others looked at him. "His name is Feliks Łukasiewicz."

"How do you know that?" Lovi asked, staring at him suspiciously. She still didn't trust most of Kirkland's crew.

"Because I lived in Russia for a few years," Toris said, paling a little under her scrutiny. There was a faraway look in the Lithuanian's forest green eyes. "When I was a teenager. He's a Lieutenant in the Russian army, I believe. When I was growing up, all of the higher ups were pretty well known. I guess it hasn't changed much since." He looked at his hands, not meeting any of their gazes. There was a strange quiver in his voice that made the others not want to press the issue.

"Well, don't worry, buddy," Mathias said bracingly, clapping him on one thin shoulder. "We're gonna swoop in there and blow up their fucking aerodrome and steal back Kirkland's ship and capture Braginski and it's gonna be fucking awesome. And you won't have to go back there again."

"Thanks," Toris said with a quiet chuckle, smiling at the navigator's enthusiasm. "Aren't you a little worried though?"

"What? No way," Mathias said dismissively. "I may be a sailor by trade, but I'm a damn sight better at flying than anyone here—"

"_I'm_ the one who's a pilot," Amelia pointed out.

"Yeah, but Kirkland threw a fit when you said you wanted to do the flyover," Mathias said with a knowing grin. Amelia flushed in irritation but said nothing. "Besides, between the two of us, I think I'm a better flyer." He winked.

"Fuck that," Amelia cried indignantly. "I've been flying for years—" Toris put a hand on her arm, gently pulling her back down.

Mathias just grinned infuriatingly. "Don't worry, Jones, I've got this," he said, flashing her a cocky grin.

Lovina listened to them without saying anything, her stomach churning with anxiety. She hated this idea. She was just glad that Feli was staying on the ship with her. They were a bunch of kids, really. What did they think they were doing? All of a sudden, she couldn't stand their light banter about the expedition, and she silently stood up to put away her dishes, her food mostly untouched.

"Lovi?" Feli piped up from her window seat. "You didn't eat much, ve! Are you okay?"

Lovi rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, _sorella_. I'm just…I'm gonna go for a walk."

"Make sure you practice loading a gun after!" Amelia reminded her. "Come by my room before you go to bed tonight, kay? We'll practice some more!"

"Right," Lovina agreed reluctantly. "See you lot later." She ignored their chipper chorus of good-byes and let herself out of the cramped galley, hugging herself tightly like she always did when she was anxious.

* * *

Lovina couldn't sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she just saw explosions and gunshot wounds and burning airships. Twice, she fell asleep just long enough to see the _Santa Maria _burning in her mind's eye, a small furnace on the cool Mediterranean Sea. Finally, she knew it was pointless. She gently pried off Feli's arm, heavy with sleep, and slipped out of bed, tucking in the blankets around her sister. She looks even younger in her sleep, Lovi thought. She closed the door as quietly as possible behind her and made her way to the radio room at the bottom of the ship, where she knew whoever was on watch would be waiting, watching over the _Constanza_'s sleeping crew.

She slipped into the room, which was only lit by an oil lamp on the desk in the middle of the room. It cast a strange, golden glow on the rest of the room, a sunspot in the murky blue tones that leaked in through the windows from the night sky. It made her think of one of the first nights that she had been on the _Santa Maria_, when Heracles taught her how to steer. It was oddly nostalgic. She didn't see anyone in the radio room, though. The radio, hardwired to the wall, was silent. The room looked fairly empty, and if the light hadn't been burning so strongly, she would've suspected that the watchman had snuck back to his or her room to sleep. She paced the perimeter of the room, dragging her fingers across the dimly lit aluminum walls that chilled her skin to touch. She wanted to memorize every inch of this ship. She didn't love it like she did the _Santa Maria_—she might as well admit it—but she had grown so used to being on a ship that she wasn't sure what she was going to do when she and Feli did return home. She wanted to memorize every detail that she could. She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Lovina walked over to the giant map that was pinned to the wall, the only decoration in the otherwise barren room, and traced their passage from Italy to wherever the hell they were now, somewhere in eastern Europe. The oversized map only made the distance look that much greater. _What a long way we've come_, she thought. How long had it been? It was nearly April now…the Vargas' ship was attacked in…December? Damn.

"Lovina?"

Lovina spun around quickly and found herself face to face with Antonio. Her heartbeat picked up immediately upon seeing those catlike eyes fastened on her. "H-hey," she said, startled. "I didn't know _you_ were the one on watch."

"Yeah," he said without his usual noisiness. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well volunteer. And I am the captain." He smiled crookedly, but even his smile looked a little off. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"No," she admitted, turning back to look at the map. "I'm still not used to this damn ship."

She felt his warm arms slip around her waist, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. She sighed and leaned back a little into his embrace. She would allow this, she decided. Because tomorrow—no. She wouldn't think of it.

He chuckled, and the air from his mouth tickled her ear. "Are you alright?" He asked teasingly.

She turned to scowl at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You usually throw a fit whenever I touch you," he said, squeezing her a bit.

"I do not," she spluttered indignantly. "You make me sound like a fucking five year old, 'Tonio."

"Oh, Lovina," he said with his lilting laugh, "that's not what I meant." He pecked her cheek affectionately, ignoring her heavy sigh. He removed his arms from her waist and went to sit down in the chair by the window.

"You had to take the only chair," she complained.

He patted his lap.

"No," she said, her cheeks burning. "I'm a lady, dammit."

"Exactly," Antonio said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Which is why I can't let you stand." He held out his hand to her, and she reluctantly took it, squawking a bit when he pulled her into his lap. "See? This is better than standing."

"Hmph," she grumbled, throwing her legs over one arm of the chair and snuggling against his chest a little. "I guess."

"So why can't you sleep, _hermosa_?" He asked softly, twirling one of her dark curls around his index finger. Despite the nightly chill, he radiated an extraordinary amount of warmth. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and curl up to him as much as possible, but her pride wouldn't let her. She settled for wrapping her arms around her torso instead, pulling the shawl she wore to bed around herself.

"I'm just thinking about the expedition," she said honestly. "It seems pretty stupid." _I don't want you to go._

"I see," he said, and she couldn't read the expression in his eyes. "Why's that?"

_Because I don't want you to get hurt_. "Well, you said France might declare war on Russia. Shouldn't we wait for that?"

"That could be years from now," Antonio said, sighing. "The French haven't been very militaristic in a long time. They're too busy fighting among themselves."

"It's still stupid," she argued, frowning. _You're going to do something stupid and die, and I'll never forgive you_.

"Aw, Lovi, are you worried?" He asked, beaming up at her.

She huffed angrily and didn't say anything. _Oh God, why can't I just tell him yes?_ She wondered despairingly. She could never be as open about her feelings as Feliciana. She hated opening herself up to people.

"Lovi?" Antonio pressed, looking concern. He moved his hand from her hair to cup her cheek, tilting her face towards him. He looked so sweet, it almost hurt in a way. _Why is he wasting his time with me_? She wondered.

"I guess I am," she admitted, hugging herself for reassurance. She studied the hideous fabric of the chair behind Antonio's head, not meeting his eyes. "I don't…I don't want anything to happen. To any of you."

"Hey." Antonio turned her face to his and stared at her very seriously. "You know I wouldn't let anything happen to them. Right?"

_Dammit, Antonio, you're only twenty four! You can't guarantee a damn thing!_ But she didn't say that. "Well, what about…"

"What about what?"

"What about you?" She blurted out. "Promise me you're not gonna do anything stupid!" She wasn't sure when it happened, but suddenly her hands were holding his face, too, memorizing the feel of his skin on her hands.

He stared at her, wide eyed, and nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. "I promise not to do anything reckless. But my crew is my first priority. Arthur's, too."

"You're on a first name basis now, huh?" She said, in a weak attempt at humor. She's shaking a little. "Guess things are getting serious with you two."

"Are you always this sarcastic when you're scared?" He asked, smiling a little.

"I'm not scared," she said defiantly, but her trembling hands on his face say otherwise.

"Okay," he agreed. "You're not scared."

For some reason, his passiveness made her mad. "Dammit, Antonio," she sighed angrily, leaning down to kiss him hard on the mouth. "You're not very reassuring." He looked so cute and surprised, she had to fight back a smile.

"I'm sorry," he said peaceably, running a hand through her hair again. He pulled her in for a kiss, cupping her soft, round face as he leaned in, tasting her sleepy mouth. She moved her hands down to grip the collar of his open shirt, pulling their bodies closer together. Her lips parted slightly, and he could feel her warm breath in his mouth as her breathing deepened. There was something urgent in the way she kissed him back, and while he welcomed it, he also hated it because she hadn't kissed him in at least three days, so she was _really_ worried. He pulled away slightly, grinning at her annoyed expression. "Lovi—"

"Can I stay with you?" She blurted out suddenly, looking a little frenzied.

"What do you mean?" Antonio asked, confused.

She felt the heat travel from the tips of her ears although to her toes as she mumbled, "I mean, since tomorrow is kind of a big deal, when you're done with the watch—"

"You want to sleep with me?" He asked, raising his eyebrows sharply.

"Not like that!" She exclaimed, smacking his shoulder. "Don't be a pervert!"

"Well, what did you want me to think?" He asked, looking a little cross.

"I just meant—I mean, I just wanted to—" She fumbled for words, wringing her hands anxiously. God, why was she so stupid? He probably thought she was some kind of loose woman now—

"Oh, you just wanted to spend the night?" He asked, a huge smile stealing across his tanned features, which she fortunately didn't see.

She nodded. "Don't get any ideas," she added, poking him in the chest. "I didn't mean it like _that_, you bastard."

"Ideas? Of course not," Antonio said seriously, hugging her close to him. She awkwardly returned the hug, feeling a little suffocated by the tininess of the armchair. _Mathias better not walk in here right now_, she thought, flushing. "What kind of man do you take me for?" But his warm lips at her neck make her whole body go hot, and she pushed away from him, scowling at him.

"Don't ask stupid questions," she returned flatly, smiling a little when he laughed, the first genuine laugh she heard from him in days. "When is your watch over, anyway?"

"Three," he answered, pulling a pocket watch from the inside of his coat. He squinted at the tiny Roman numerals. "It's almost three. Mathias should be here any minute—"

A loud knock on the door startled them both, and Lovina just barely had time to jump out of his lap before Mathias burst into the radio room. "Evening, Captain," he said cheerfully, despite the slight shadows under his bright eyes. "And Lovina, too. You okay? You look kinda feverish."

"I'm fine," she answered hotly, awkwardly hovering by Antonio, who remained seated.

"Mmhmm," the Dane said knowingly, grinning. "Alright, well, I'm here to relieve you. See you in the morning, yeah?"

"_Si_," Antonio agreed. He stood up and popped his back, yawning loudly. "Eight o'clock sharp."

"So early," Mathias grumbled, sinking into the recently vacated seat. "You kids stay out of trouble."

"Listen, bastard," Lovina began, scowling, but Antonio took her hand and pulled her away gently.

"See you tomorrow," he called to Mathias, smiling. He closed the door behind them as they walked down the chilly corridor to the passenger cabins, unable to stop grinning.

"What are you in such a hurry for?" Lovina grumbled, stumbling after him as he rounded a corner rather quickly.

"I just want to sleep," he said, sighing with relief when they reached his room. He took out his key and unlocked it swiftly and opened the door for her, smiling. "There's only five hours between us and tomorrow."

She felt uneasiness settle into the pit of her stomach at his words, but didn't say anything as she walked in. She had only been in his room on this ship once, and it didn't have any of the warm touches of his room back on the _Santa Maria_. She felt a wave of pity for him wash over her as she noticed the details that should have been there: his Spanish flag, a plain rosary, a collection of antique maps that had belonged to his father. But tiredness swept over her, and she didn't think on it too long. She walked over to the queen sized bed and collapsed on the left side of it, burying deep under the goose down coverlet. She felt her heart flutter nervously in her chest when she heard him opening and shutting drawers, humming to himself as he did so. She heard the _thunk_ of his boots hitting the floor as he pulled them off of his feet, and the popping of buttons. She sat up suspiciously, glaring over at him. "You better not be taking off your pa—" She began, but stopped.

"What?" He asked her innocently. He stood by the bed, smiling warmly at her, in only his trousers. Unwillingly, her eyes raked over his light brown, toned chest, noting the broad shoulders and his defined arms. She swallowed.

"Uh, nothing," she squeaked, flopping back down and pulling the pillow up against her face so that she couldn't see him. She set it up as barrier between them. _This was your idea_, she reminded herself sternly. She felt the groaning of the bed springs as he sank down into the bed next to her and heard the rustle of sheets as he crawled under them with her.

"If you say so," he said contentedly, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his body. Her mind froze, and she found herself unable to think of anything except his hot arms around her body. He nuzzled his face against her hair and sighed sleepily. "I'm glad you're here, Lovi."

She took a deep breath to steady herself, and ended up saying, "Me too," in a quiet undertone. But the soft breathing on her neck told her that he was already asleep. She forced herself to close her eyes too, but her heart hammered too loudly in her chest. She didn't think she was ever going to fall asleep, but finally, an hour later, she gradually began to drift away, lulled into unconsciousness by the steady heartbeat of the pirate that lay next to her.

* * *

_Spamano more like super cutie pies amirite they're so precious I can't wait til the ending for these two eek it's gonna be good_

_Also fem!Italy is not just a useless cutie okay she can be tough and stuff yeah she is not useless and I hope I haven't made her seem that way_

_Also fem!America and guns yeah that was fun to write_

_Those are real guns, too, and from the appropriate time period! Thanks to the site militaryfactory for providing me with extra information about the guns! Although it helps to know how to shoot a shotgun, too ;)  
_

_Also, and this may have been a bit confusing, but Amelia is going out with the guys tomorrow. I know, I know, Artie said she's not going. But y'all should know by now that if Artie says one thing, there is a good chance that Amelia is going to do the exact opposite. And you'll just have to wait to see what becomes of GerIta and USUK. Until then, have some fluffy Spamano to tide you over._

_One day moooore_

_Spanish_

_Hermosa - beautiful_


	17. Ch 17 - The Dark Descent

**A/N: Wow. It's been almost a month since I updated. I'm really sorry, guys. This whole 'plot' thing has been stressing me out. Anyway, I hope it makes sense :c This is part one of two (or three) chapters dedicated to this part, so here we go!**

* * *

Antonio woke up unwillingly when the sun broke through the tiny portholes of the cabin. He blinked blearily, feeling far older than his twenty four years. His internal clock told him it was six thirty, the same time he always woke up. He rolled over and watched a curl rise and fall in front of Lovina's face as she breathed easily in her sleep, her expression for once free of her characteristic scowl. He tightened his arm around her protectively, burying his face in her hair. She mumbled something and snuggled a little closer to him, sighing, and he wondered if she was thinking of her sister. He kissed the top of her head before slipping out of bed as noiselessly as possible, not wanting to wake her until it was time to go.

He went over to the silver basin on his dresser and splashed his face, trying to discern his own face in the rusty gilded mirror. He lightly slapped his cheeks, willing himself to be more awake. His tired eyes stared back at him listlessly, and he frowned at his reflection. Now wasn't the time for sleepiness or nervousness. He was a pirate captain, and it was time to take back what was his. He combed his tangled brown curls and dressed in a hurry, tugging on his favorite pair of jet black breeches and snug fitting grey vest over his white blouse. It wasn't as flashy as the clothes he usually liked, but this was a somber occasion, and it would be better not to draw attention to himself when they invaded the Russian ships. Besides, this was more practical than what he usually wore, although he didn't like to think of himself as an especially flamboyant dresser.

Finally, he deemed it was time to wake up Lovina. He approached the bed hesitantly. He had a feeling that she was very grouchy in the morning. He tentatively pulled back the covers and shook her shoulder, whispering, "You need to get up. The rest of us will be leaving soon, _querida_." She stirred and rose her head sleepily, raising a pair of drowsy golden eyes. He waited for the inevitable angry reaction, but she only mumbled, "It's so early…" She rubbed her eyes, sighing. He tried to hold back a grin. She looked so adorable!

"It's almost seven," Antonio replied, brushing a stray curl out of her face.

She yawned and batted his hand away. "Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, that familiar annoyed tone creeping into her face. "Go get breakfast or something. I need to get dressed."

"Okay," he agreed, stooping down to kiss her on the cheek. "See you in the galley."

"Mmm," she grunted, pushing him away. "Just go."

After he left the small cabin, she rifled through his drawers, not caring that the others would probably comment on her wearing his clothes. She had gone through plenty of Tino's clothes since they were around the same size and she didn't exactly have a lot of her own clothes; why should it mattered which man she borrowed extra clothing from? Besides, his smelled like Antonio, not that she would ever admit that she was fond of his scent. She slipped a loose, cream-colored blouse over her head and sighed deeply before pulling on a pair of navy blue trousers that were far too tight over her hips and far too long. She managed to find a pair of suspenders to help hold them up, but she looked fairly ridiculous. She sighed again. She really missed all of her frocks. It would be nice to dress like a woman again, and a stylish one at that. But she had other matters to focus on, she reflected, remembering the importance of the day. She knelt by the bed and said a quick prayer for the crew's safety. Back home, she always attended masses with Feli and Grandpa Roma, but she hadn't gone to a service in months, and it reassured her a little to pray. She checked her appearance in the mirror one last time, trying to coax her wild mahogany curls into some semblance of a bun before she went to join the rest of the crew in the galley, trying not to think of all the things that could possibly go wrong.

* * *

"Everyone has a copy of the plan, correct?" Arthur asked, appraising the assembled crews. He stood in the front of the galley, his sea green eyes sweeping over the anxious and excited faces before him. "As long as you stick to it, we should be able to pull this off. Once we get into Russian airspace, everything will be much easier. Mr. Zwingli, Mr. Kǿhler, we are all counting on you," he added, addressing the two blonds at the table directly in front of them.

Vash nodded curtly, and Mathias shot him a huge grin before downing the rest of his coffee. "Don't you worry, Kirkland, we won't let you down," the Dane told him, giving him a thumbs up. "You can count on us. Right, Vash?"

The Swiss man looked only a little less composed than usual. "Yes," he said, through gritted teeth. He was not looking forward to the mission, much less the part he was to play in it. But he would carry it out to the fullest, and then retire back to Switzerland, he thought to himself.

"Good," Arthur said dryly, a little taken aback by Mathias' enthusiasm. "Everyone has weapons?" He looked to Antonio, who stood in the back of the room, hastily eating the remains of his breakfast.

"_Si_, I made sure everyone has at least one gun and a knife," the Spaniard said, around bits of omelet. "Even the ladies. Feli, Lovi, you both have the guns Amelia showed you how to use?"

"Yeah!" Feli said eagerly.

"God forbid we should need them," Lovi grumbled.

"You won't, it's merely a precaution," Arthur assured her. "But since we will be using the _Constanza_ in our attack, it's best that everyone be prepared—"

"Yes, we know," Alistair interrupted. Arthur frowned at his brother, who smiled a little. "Enough talking. We all know the plan. Let's go, aye?"

"I was getting there," Arthur informed him crossly, folding his arms stubbornly. "Alright, then. To your positions. Mr. Carriedo, you'll accompany Mr. Zwingli and Mr. Kǿhler to the hangar. I'll be waiting for you in the control room."

"_Si_," Antonio said, giving him a sardonic little salute that the Brit fortunately missed. "You got it, _Capitan_. Mathias, Vash, let's go." The other crew members patted them on the backs or hugged them as they passed by the breakfast tables.

"You be safe," Tino told Mathias sternly, reaching up to adjust his pilot's goggles. "Ingrid won't forgive me if I let you do something stupid."

"Calm down, Mom," Mathias said teasingly, ruffling the shorter man's fair hair. "I'm older than you are."

"You be careful, too," Tino said warmly to Vash, ignoring his friend's flippant comment.

"Vash won't let anything happen," Heracles said with a rare smile, secretly amused at the thought of Vash and Mathias going on a mission together. Those two butted heads more than anyone on the _Santa Maria_ crew.

The _Victoria_ crew members wished them luck as well.

"Bye, Mathias," Amelia chirped, hugging the Dane tightly. "See you soon."

"Damn right," Mathias said with a grin. "You think I'd leave you with this guy as a navigator?" He reached out to swipe a croissant off of Alistair's plate nearby.

"Ye're a pain in the arse, y'know that?" Alistair said lightly, standing up and smacking him on the shoulder harder than was necessary. The Dane winced. "Er, sorry. Forgot about yer shoulder."

"Let's just go," Vash said impatiently, tugging on the talkative navigator's sleeve. "Ludwig, you're acting first officer on board, got it?" He addressed the German young man who loitered by the doorway, watching the crews apprehensively

"_Ja_," Ludwig affirmed, saluting him. He looked even more serious than normal as he replied, "Understood, sir."

"At least one sensible person will be here while we're gone," Vash muttered under his breath as he turned to follow Mathias and Antonio down the corridor to the hangar, where their plane awaited.

"Ah, there she is," Mathias said fondly, patting the little biplane as he hopped into the front seat. "You ready, Vash?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," he grumbled, climbing in behind him and snapping on his goggles. "Let's go."

Antonio moved away from the biplane and over towards the lever on the side of the wall. "Good luck," he called. "If you don't make contact in two hours—"

"You'll come get us, we know," Mathias yelled over the roaring wind as the floor suddenly dipped down, and the plane began to inch forward. "You worry too much!" He waved eagerly at his friend and turned his attention to the plane. In a single graceful swoop, the plane took off from the hangar, leaving the _Constanza_ behind in minutes. Antonio watched the small plane head towards the headquarter building in Kiev until it disappeared from sight, and then closed the hatch. _And now to wait for them to infiltrate the base_, he thought with an anxious sigh, heading back to the control room.

* * *

The next hour or so inched by. The radio in the plane only worked half the time, and they had agreed to radio only in the case of an emergency, so they would wait to send a signal until they had successfully taken over. Once there, they would commandeer the control room, and radio the watch towers that lined the countryside into Russia that the _Constanza_ was a friendly ship, and that she had permission to enter Russian airspace. It wouldn't be too difficult for them, Antonio knew—they were both excellent men to have in combat, and Vash was incredibly smart as well. It was unlikely that the base in Kiev would be too heavily guarded, either—which is why they had chosen this particular site instead of going straight ahead into Moscow. For now, however, the _Constanza_ hovered in the Ukrainian sky around five thousand feet, low enough to take in the rather barren countryside.

"It's spring," Antonio marveled, staring down at the sallow fields below, dotted with jagged rocks and tiny, sturdy homes. "Why does everything look so dead?"

"The Ukraine is an agricultural country, and they've been in a severe drought for the past two years," Toris mused to his left. The Lithuanian lifted his eyes to the dove-gray sky, frowning. "If we keep hovering here, we're bound to draw attention to ourselves."

"Doubtful," Arthur said. "We're still at least three hours out from Moscow. The Ukraine might be a part of the Russian Empire, but they don't have the wealth or the manpower to have the defenses that Russia does. We'll be fine. I'm sure we'll be hearing them on the radio any moment now…" He glanced at the radio on the wall, which remained despairingly silent. He looked at Antonio, who looked like he was aging five years for every minute that passed. Arthur felt bad for him. He hated putting his crew in danger, too. "Stiff upper lip, chap," he told Antonio bracingly, patting the Spaniard on the shoulder. "Have some faith in your men."

"I do have faith in them," Antonio replied quickly. "It's just…I hope this is worth it."

"Me too," Arthur replied quietly.

The speakers of the radio suddenly crackled to life, causing the three men to jump.

"_Kapitän?_" Someone asked, coughing heavily at the end of the question.

Antonio raced over to the radio, fiddling with the dial to answer. "Yes? Vash, is that you?"

"_Ja_. We did it. We only had to kill three people. The fourth man, we detained. We're going to radio Moscow now, and then you should be able to cross the border." He coughed again, and it sounded almost wet to Antonio, as if he had a bad cold.

"Vash? Are you and Mathias alright?" Antonio asked worriedly, pressing himself closer to the radio, as though he could move nearer to his crew members.

"I'm fine, _Kapitän. _I—" They heard a rustling of fabric and a grunt and then a different voice took over.

"He got shot," someone interrupted, and they recognized Mathias' voice. "In the shoulder. It's not fatal, but we need to get him back soon. Don't waste time. Fly in to Moscow, and we'll meet you there."

"We'll wait for you two to fly back," Antonio argued. "Leave the base now, and—"

"That's a waste of time," Vash's voice called, sounding slightly distant. "We have it under control. Just go."

"Vash is right. I'll take care of him, _Kaptjn_," Mathias said cheerfully, although his voice was a little strained. "Besides, we should probably stick around in case anyone tries to communicate with us about a strange ship. We'll see you in a few hours, don't worry."  
"Mathias, I am _ordering_ you—" Antonio began in a dangerous voice, but the radio sputtered violently, and a little red light flashed, indicating that the connection was lost. "Fuck," the captain said under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

Arthur watched him anxiously, not wanting to urge him to get going, but not wanting to stay behind in Kiev, either. Every second that passed was a second given to Braginski and his lackeys to catch on to what they were planning. He exchanged a heavy glance with Toris, who looked even paler than he had before.

Finally, Antonio sighed deeply. "Alright. I'm probably going to regret this, but…I think we should push ahead. I trust Mathias to look after Vash. If he says he'll get them there, he will."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you." He wanted to say that he understood what a difficult decision he was making, but he didn't.

Antonio shook his head. "Don't." He hated himself for doing this. It felt like they were abandoning them. "Come on. The sooner we get to Moscow, the sooner I can wrap my hands around that bastard's neck and be done with this." His usually mild expression was distorted with a barely veiled rage. "I'm going to take over the helm for awhile." He slammed the door violently behind him, leaving Arthur and Toris to listen to the quiet hum of the radio in the control car and the slight patter of rain that started to fall on the _Constanza_ as she sailed towards Moscow.

* * *

"Moscow is sighted, sir," Kiku's voice called from the speaker system that circulated the creaky airship about three hours later. "Proceed to land in the Moscow Aerodrome?"

Arthur glanced at Antonio, who sat across from him in the control room. He nodded. Taking a deep breath, Arthur crossed over to the speaker, pressed the button, and replied in a relatively calm voice, "Yes. Take us in, Mr. Honda."

"Understood, Captain."

The large, beautiful city of Moscow was barely visible through the thick layer of charcoal-gray clouds that obscured the otherwise lovely landscape. Arthur took a deep breath and buttoned up his outer coat, preparing himself for the freezing cold.

"You look nervous, _amigo_," Antonio joked in a less-than-cheerful voice.

Arthur raised his thick eyebrows at the lounging Spaniard. "Nervous," he scoffed. "I've seen scarier sights in the Navy, believe me."

Antonio chuckled. "Right. Guess we'd better get ready then."

"I guess so."

The two men walked down to the makeshift meeting room on the ship, the spacious sitting room on the second deck that had previously served as a dance floor. The assembled crews were gathered there, some sitting, preparing weapons, a few pacing anxiously.

Antonio's eyes came to rest warmly on Lovina, who was patiently listening to her sister ramble excitedly about the gun that Amelia let her borrow. She turned from her twin for a half second and met his eyes with a shy smile before turning her head away again. Antonio glanced over the rest of his crew: Heracles was quieter than usual, but his calmness would come in handy today; Tino looked worried about Mathias, predictably, but the young blond was also quite level headed. He gave Antonio a reassuring nod before he went back to his task of loading his favorite Finnish rifle. Out of the whole _Santa Maria _crew, Ludwig looked the most concerned. Antonio suspected it had something to do with the frigid air between the somber German and a certain Italian. Ludwig kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye when he wasn't obsessively fiddling with the buttons of his coat or counting his extra bullets. She, however, appeared to completely ignore him, even though she sat right next to him. The pirate captain glanced to his right and saw that Arthur was also surveying his crew one last time before they descended into the Russian capital.

"I suppose we ought to split up now," Arthur reasoned. "We have to be ready as soon as we land. We should have at least a few hours before Mr. Zwingli and Mr. Kǿhler leave the watch tower, but just in case word gets out that we aren't an ally ship, we need to make haste. Mr. Honda, your team will be in charge of locating and recovering the _Victoria_. Captain Carriedo and I will be with the other team, and we will find Braginski and capture him. Mr. Karpusi and Mr. Väinämöinen will wait here with the _Constanza _for Mr. Zwingli and Mr. Kǿhler to return, and then you will take the second team and leave Moscow as quickly as you can. The _Victoria_ will be right behind you, if all goes according to plan."

The crew watched as he took a steadying breath to reassure himself, and then continued, "And it will. We'll be heading back tonight, hopefully with a ship to replace the _Santa Maria_." He turned to smile at his fellow captain. "Anything you want to add?"

Antonio deliberated, his green eyes pensive. "Just be careful," he warned his crew. "The Moscow Aerodrome is huge. It will literally be crawling with soldiers. We made it into Russian airspace, but that doesn't mean that we get to draw attention to ourselves. You'll need to take the _Victoria_ as quietly as possible," he added to Kiku, who nodded. "Well, that's all I have," he said with a sigh. "We'll be landing in about twenty minutes. Be ready."

As the crew began to shuffle down to the first deck, Arthur's gaze fell on Amelia, who was whispering with Kiku about something. She caught him watching them and frowned slightly at him. They hadn't spoken very much thanks to Amelia's avoiding him, he thought bitterly, but her behavior worried him a little. Kiku's rather guilty expression was also alarming. He crossed over to the pair of them just as they were about to leave, and said in a quiet undertone, "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing," Amelia said brightly, wrapping her arm around Kiku's free arm tightly. She turned to smile at the Japanese man. "Right, Kiku?"

Arthur's suspicions deepened. "What's going on, Mr. Honda?" He asked sternly, directing his question at his first mate.

"Eh…nothing, Captain," Kiku said uneasily. "It's just….well, Miss Jones and I were discussing the possibility that—"

It was then that Arthur noticed that Amelia was dressed in an incredible amount of layers. A thick overcoat, warm, woolen scarf, and heavy winter trousers concealed her curvy form. He thought he recognized the scarf as his, but he wasn't sure. His eyes widened. "You…you're not going on the expedition," he deadpanned. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Kiku winced at the expression on the American's face. He could practically hear the crackle of electricity between the two of them. He wasn't sure who looked angrier. "Yes, I am," Amelia replied, her eyes flashing like the steel of a gun. "You would be an idiot to leave a trained soldier on the airship when you're planning to invade an enemy aerodrome."

Arthur ground his teeth together so hard his head ached. "No," he said tersely, ignoring her insult.

"Sir, if I may interject, she does have a point," Kiku said weakly, trying not to flinch at the glare his captain and good friend gave him.

"You see, Kiku agrees," Amelia said in a tone that suggested she was about to lose her temper. "Kiku and I discussed this and—"

"Mr. Honda," Arthur bit out, closing his eyes for a moment, "if I might have a word with Miss Jones. _Alone."_

"Certainly," the first mate said eagerly, removing himself immediately from the situation. The door to the sitting room slammed behind him ominously, leaving a deadly silent room that threatened to swallow them both up.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur exploded as soon as he left. "Dammit, Amelia! I thought I told you that you were going to stay on the _Constanza_ with the Vargas girls and Mr. Väinämöinen and Mr. Karpusi—"

"Yes, you did say that, and I told you I wasn't going to," Amelia replied heatedly, angry color flooding her cheeks. The blonde looked more furious than he had ever seen her. "That's the problem with you, Arthur! You don't listen!"

"_I_ don't listen!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up in shock. "That's—that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say! _You_—"

"I told you when I joined this crew that I came to fight Carriedo," she interrupted, folding her arms defiantly across her chest. "Our enemy may have changed, but my plan hasn't! I came to be a part of this crew and I'm not going to sit it out!"

Arthur stared at her, unable to formulate a response for once. Did she even remember that he hadn't wanted her on his crew in the first place? She was too ridiculous. Couldn't she see that this was for her own good?

She seemed to read his mind as she said, bitingly, "Dammit, Arthur! Why do you have to be so stubborn? You need as many trained combatants as you can take. I know how to fight, and I can help! Why can't you see that?" She glared at him, and he found himself distracted by the determined set of her jaw, and he wished he could just kiss her instead of fighting like this. But he doubted very much that she would allow that right now.

"Because," he said adamantly, hating his lack of an answer. He looked away, unnerved a little by the candid look in her eyes. He huffed a little to himself. This was the woman he was in love with? She was positively infuriating. And yet.

She sighed angrily, throwing her hands up in the air. "This is exactly why we can't—" She stopped, biting her lip. "Never mind. I'm going to meet up with Kiku and the rest." She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm.

"Why we can't what?" He asked, unconsciously letting concern seep into his voice. "Amelia?"

"It's nothing," she said, looking almost sad as her eyes raked his face for any sign of surrender. "Forget it."

"Amelia—"

"What?"

Arthur sighed deeply. He already regretted this decision. He felt his ears pop as the _Constanza_ began to make her descent. "Maybe…maybe you're right."

Amelia tilted her head to the side, confused, as if she hadn't heard him correctly. "What?" She asked suspiciously. That didn't sound like the Arthur Kirkland she knew.

"I hate myself for saying this," he said, gritting his teeth and casting his eyes heavenward beseechingly, "but I think you have a point. As far as numbers go, we are rather short on people. I can't believe I'm allowing this—"

Immediately, the young woman's expression brightened. She cut him off, throwing her arms around his neck. Surprised, but pleased, he caught her, trying not to stumble backwards. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for trusting me." She planted a kiss on his cheek and pulled away, smiling warmly. "I'll take care of my group, don't you worry!"

"You're not in charge of the group, Mr. Honda is," Arthur corrected gruffly, adjusting the collar of her bomber jacket so that it lay flat against her lean shoulders. "You _do_ have to take orders from him, understand?"

She nodded, a determined gleam in her eyes, and Arthur saw a glimpse of the soldier she always bragged about being. Despite his worry for her safety, he knew that she could take care of herself, but it didn't mean he was happy about it. "Come on, then, Captain," she said, with a rakish grin. "Let's go wait with the others."

He followed her to the first deck, more confused than ever. He wanted to ask her exactly what their relationship was supposed to be, and he wanted to know what she had almost said earlier, but she moved away to talk to Kiku, and the loud buzz of conversation made it impossible to communicate. Sighing, he made his way over to Antonio, who stood between an anxious Ludwig and Lovina, watching as the Russian ground rose up to meet them. Houses gradually became visible, microscopic against the cold, gray ground, the lights of windows glittering like dozens of insect eyes against the dimming light of the late afternoon. Scarcely fifty feet below, the Moscow Aerodrome loomed, looking as dark and impenetrable as some kind of steel mountain out of an ancient fairy tale. The reflection of the window cast an odd light on Antonio's face as the pirate turned to face him.

"We're here," Antonio said to Arthur. "We made it."

* * *

_Spanish_

_Querida - dear_

_Amigo - friend_

_German_

_Ja- yes_

_Kapitän - captain (I know y'all know this by now, but I'm a tiny bit obsessive about translations.)_

_Danish_

_Kaptjn - captain _

_I'm definitely going to look this over again in the morning, but for now, here it is. So Ludwig hasn't had a chance to talk to Feli, and it seems like Amelia has been avoiding Arthur, but maybe things are looking up for these two c: What did Amelia almost say to him, hmmm? Well, at least Antonio and Lovina are super cute ~_

_Finally in Moscow! In the next chapter, the real fun begins!_


	18. Ch 18- The Point of No Return

**A/N: This next chapter will switch POVs a lot, so I hope it isn't too confusing. As usual, page breaks generally signify a change in point of view or setting.**

* * *

The aerodrome workers willingly cranked open the steel doors of the dome as the _Constanza_ gradually floated down deep into the belly of the voluminous building, drifting past several floors of tightly moored airships. Amelia heard the muffled groaning as the entrance to the dome creaked shut above them, shutting out any natural light the aerodrome had left. Despite her calm demeanor, she couldn't help but feel slightly trapped, like they were descending into some kind of metal grotto. She reached back and felt her Winchester rifle strapped to her back, and felt a little reassured. She stood by Kiku by the gangway, prepared to leave as soon as Tino lowered it to the docking station. Jack and Toris also waited there. She gave them both a curt nod.

On the other side of the gangway, Antonio and Arthur stood, talking to the rest of their team—Alistair and Ludwig—as they prepared to take off in search of Braginski.

"Ready?" Tino's voice sputtered across the loudspeaker system. "I'm going to lower the gangway now."

The tension in the air was palpable as Antonio replied, "Go ahead, Tino."

The noise of the aerodrome rushed inside of their airship, filling it with the sounds of the drills of workers and the hiss of balloons being filled and loud voices talking quickly in Russian. Amelia felt her heart speed up as she gripped the barrel of her gun, trying to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest. She felt the airship come to a stop, and watched as the giant metal door slid open. _This is it_, she thought. _This is what I've been waiting for._

She followed Kiku's lead out into the colorless building, marveling at Toris' calm as he quietly talked to the aerodrome guard in Russian, telling him the story that they had come up with as to why they were here. He didn't question it, as expected; they had made it into Russian airspace with permission, and the Russians weren't one to question protocol. He waved them down from the ship, signaling for the crew to walk down the gangway onto the platform that led to the walkways that lined the outside of the aerodrome. Amelia ignored the urge to hold her gun in the ready position; it was to be expected that visitors would have guns, of course, but to hold them in the firing position would only draw attention to them. Instead, she let it hang across her shoulders, her fingers itching to be at the trigger. _Wait, old girl_, she told herself. _Don't blow this for everyone_. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Arthur and Antonio's group looking around, obviously trying to figure out where Braginski was. He might not even be in the aerodrome, but the chances were good that he was; the aerial fleet was the pride of the Russian Empire, and as a general, he would spend a lot of time in here. Antonio leaned forward to mutter something to Arthur, who nodded, and followed his gaze to the highest level of the aerodrome, where only three massive airships floated. She watched as his green eyes narrowed, having sighted his target; it was the same ship that had attacked the _Victoria _and the _Santa Maria_. He caught her looking at him and smiled before following Antonio, Ludwig, and Alistair towards the wrought iron stairs that curled around the exterior of the building and curled up gradually towards the top level.

"Miss Jones," Kiku called, reminding her of her mission. Ignoring a suspicious look from one of the guards, she turned to follow the Japanese man as he made his way towards the lower levels.

"Have you spotted the _Victoria_?" She whispered to him, jogging up to him as they made their way over to the stairs.

"Not yet," Kiku replied tersely, his brown eyes sweeping the aerodrome in confusion. "It has to be in here somewhere."

The aerodrome was massive, at least six stories tall, and held up to maybe thirty airships. Amelia had never seen such a large building in her life. The cavernous ceiling loomed high above them like the vaulting in a gloomy, empty cathedral. The exposed steel veins that held up the weight ran down from the opening in the dome all the way to the ground, creating silver ribs that looked cold to the touch. She shivered. Even inside, the Russian cold permeated through the walls.

"We only have a few hours," Jack said to her left as they skipped down the iron stairs to the third level, looking around for Arthur's beloved ship. "Mathias and Vash have probably left by now. If they radio the Kiev base to ask about us, we're done for." He looked around uneasily—the building had upwards of a hundred workers at least, and they were in the heart of Moscow; the army barracks were probably only a few blocks away.

"Then we won't waste time," Kiku replied. None of the ships on the third level looked even remotely familiar, and they all bore the Russian tricolor. They walked as casually as possible to the staircase that led to the second level, growing more and more concerned when there was no sign of the _Victoria_. They walked past ten separate ships, all of them much larger than the _Victoria_. Perhaps she was on the first level, where the smaller ships were usually moored. She had to be.

By now, some of the workers were watching them. They did their best not to stand out by dressing in nondescript, military-style uniforms under winter gear, but none of them looked Russian in the least, except maybe Toris.

"Kiku," Amelia said, grabbing his sleeve as they rounded the stairs to the first level. "What if they draw weapons? We'll have to shoot, and then they'll know we're not with the Russian Federation—"

"They haven't yet," Kiku answered, fixing her with a stern gaze. "_Don't_ draw your weapon. It will only make things worse. We will find her—ah!" He exclaimed quietly, his eyes lighting up upon seeing a familiar sight.

The other three stopped and followed his gaze. There, floating between two much larger ships, was the _Victoria_, looking finer than they'd ever seen her; obviously, some serious repairs had been done since the theft at the Marseilles Aerodrome. Amelia's heart swelled with joy at the sight. But they didn't have her yet. "Now what?" She muttered to the first mate.

"Follow my lead," he replied quietly, walking in front of the three of them towards the ship.

The guard at the entrance of the _Victoria_ looked up in surprise, and asked them something in Russian. Toris stepped forward and replied quickly, gesturing with his hands to the ship and back to their group.

"What is he saying?" Jack whispered in Amelia's ear.

"Hell if I know," the American mouthed back, watching them carefully. "Oh, shit."

The guard looked very agitated. He obviously didn't buy whatever it was Toris was telling him, and he opened his mouth to call to the guard by the next ship, twenty feet away, but Toris anticipated it and punched him squarely in the jaw, knocking him back so hard that his eyes rolled back. "Quick, help me drag him inside," he hissed to Jack, who complied, startled. They quickly moved up the gangway onto the ship, dragging the unconscious man with them. Kiku swiftly crossed to the control panel and pulled the lever, raising the gangway door up behind them and sealing them off from the rest of the aerodrome.

"Damn, Toris," Amelia remarked, unable to contain a grin. "Where did that come from?"

He only smiled a little and didn't reply as he and Jack hid the guard behind the control panel and confiscated his weapons.

"Alright, we need to go to the radio room now," Kiku informed them. "That's where any crew members will be. Remember, only kill if you need to."

They nodded, and followed him along the familiar corridors of their old ship, keeping a sharp eye out for any crew members. The ship was quite empty, however. Amelia had expected as much. The aerodrome itself was so heavily guarded, there was really no need for extra men inside the ship as well.

They paused outside of the radio room. Kiku pressed his ear to the door, listening intently. "I hear three," he murmured. "But there could be more. On my mark…" He held up his fingers, and mouthed, one. Two. Three. Then he slammed the door open, pointing the revolver directly at a startled blonde.

"Don't shoot!" A rather buxom woman in a grey uniform cried, putting up her hands.

Jack, Toris, and Amelia filed in behind him, pointing their weapons at…

A rather small boy, a skinny man with glasses, and the curvaceous woman who appeared to be in charge.

They didn't exactly look threatening.

"Do you even have weapons?" Jack exclaimed, looking them over.

"How did you get here?" The man with glasses demanded, his voice quivering slightly. He looked more annoyed than frightened, although he trembled a little.

"Hands where we can see them," Amelia ordered, eyeing him suspiciously.

They complied immediately, and Jack moved forward and patted them all down.

"I don't believe it," the Australian remarked, seeming almost disappointed. "One gun between the three of you?"

"We didn't expect our ship to get boarded in the middle of here," the boy admitted. He looked no more than fifteen, and his Russian Federation uniform hung quite loosely on him. "Please…don't shoot. We're just lackies. We don't know anything—"

"Toris, find some rope and tie them up," Kiku instructed, keeping his gun trained on the man with glasses. "And you. Step away from the radio, please."

The bespectacled man frowned, but obeyed. "You won't get away with this," he warned, as Toris tied his hands behind his back. "You can't possibly hope to steal an airship right out from under their noses like this."

"We shall see," Kiku answered serenely.

"Don't shoot them," the sandy-haired woman begged them, as Toris moved her and the boy towards the opposite end of the room, where he could better watch them. "They don't know any better. They were forced into service—my brother-" Her voice hitched suddenly, and she sounded like she was about to cry.

Amelia frowned. Forced into service? The boy did look young, too young to be in the army.

"We won't shoot anyone as long as you comply," she told the woman.

_Really, this was going too easily_, she thought to herself as she watched Kiku and Jack fiddle with the radio, trying to get a signal to Kiev. She just hoped that Arthur and Antonio were having as much luck as they were.

* * *

Antonio watched Kiku's group walk down the gangway out into the Moscow Aerodrome apprehensively. His group was next. "Heracles, you have the con," he informed his bo'sun. "We'll be back as soon as we can, and Mathias and Vash will join you soon." His gaze fell on Lovina, who was biting her lip and anxiously watching half of the _Victoria_ crew leave with Ludwig. He took both of her small hands in his and smiled warmly. "Take care, _querida_," he said tenderly. "We'll be back in—"

But she interrupted him by tugging on their intertwined hands and pulling him forward, cutting him off with a passionate kiss, ignoring Heracles' snort of amusement. "You'd better," she warned in a low voice.

"_Si_," he managed, flushing slightly. "I will."

"Come on, we're wasting time here," Arthur grumbled a few feet away. He and Alistair had already said their good byes and were waiting restlessly, wearing uncannily similar expressions of impatience.

They almost left Ludwig behind completely; he lingered by Feliciana's side, desperately trying to come up with something to say to the Italian girl. "Feli, I'm sorry for what you think I did," the German mumbled, frantically trying and failing to hold her attention.

"What is it you think you did?" Feli asked in an unnervingly cool voice. Those usually warm brown eyes regarded him cautiously, measuring his reaction.

"It's not what you think," he stuttered. "I don't know how to explain—"

Her shoulders slumped a little at his response, and she lifted her chin indifferently. "You should probably go," she murmured, turning away from him. "Good bye, Heinrich."

His blue eyes widened in shock as he exclaimed, "Wait, how do you—"

"_Amigo_, we're going," Antonio announced. "_Ahora!_"

Regretfully, Ludwig turned away from her, accepted a gun from Tino, and walked off of the _Constanza_ after his captain with a heavy and confused heart.

Antonio watched Kiku's group descend down the stairs to the third level of the aerodrome and turned his attention to Arthur. "Alright," he said to the Brit, his green eyes darting around the interior of the building, "where do we start looking?"

"The flagship," the blond replied. "That would be my guess, anyway."

"_Kapitän_, I see it on the top level," Ludwig informed them, pointing up towards the sixth level.

"We'd better move quickly," Alistair muttered, a hand going to his revolver in his trouser pocket. "We stand out…"

"Right," Arthur agreed, setting off towards the stairs that hugged the wall and crept up towards the top of the building. "Off we go, then."

They could hear the gangway of the _Constanza_ creak behind them, shutting them out with an ominous thud. "Christ, I hate that creaky old thing," Alistair griped as they mounted the thin steps.

"Quiet, you," Arthur ordered, taking the lead.

"Slow down, you're making people stare," Ludwig hissed, tugging on the English captain's sleeve.

"I want my bloody ship back," Arthur retorted, pulling away from him.

"Fuck, I think they're onto us," Antonio muttered, trying to glance behind them as inconspicuously as possible, looking towards a pair of guards by a medium-sized German zeppelin on the third level. "Dammit, Kirkland! Slow down!"

Arthur grumbled to himself but quit walking so fast as they rounded the corner of the staircase leading to the fifth level.

"We don't even look like a maintenance crew," Ludwig groaned quietly. The stout young man was hating every minute of this, Antonio could tell.

"Is that what you had Toris tell the guards, Arthur?" Alistair queried as they approached the sixth level, where the largest airships were moored, hovering above the numerous airships below. "Bloody hell! That's the worst story I think you've ever come up with—"

"Spare me your notable remarks*," Arthur returned, shooting him a glare. "Ah, there she is!"

Braginski's flagship was easily the largest in the entire aerodrome. The enormous balloon swelled to the point of bursting, the three brand new Maybach engines shone like freshly polished silver in the artificial light, and the blue, red, and white tricolor of the Russian Federation gleamed proudly on the hull of the ship.

Alistair whistled appreciatively at the sight.

"That's her, alright," Antonio said darkly, clenching his fists. "Let's go."

The men had barely made it past the first ship when they heard an angry voice yelling from behind them in Russian. Ludwig turned and saw a group of men behind them looking at a poster of some kind and pointing at Antonio, speaking in low, furious voices.

"Ah fuck," Arthur moaned. "Dammit, Carriedo! We have to run!"

"What did I do?" The Spaniard demanded, sprinting after him. "

"It must be a wanted poster," Ludwig puffed as they passed by the second ship on the row.

"That's definitely what it is," Alistair managed as a bullet went whistling by his head. "_Fuck!_"

"I'm on a poster?" Antonio cried, looking rather pleased.

"Shit," Arthur hissed, screeching to a halt when a group of guards came into view and blocked their entrance to the Russian flagship. "Alistair, you take the outside men—"

"Got it!" The Scotsman replied.

The two brothers picked off two of the men directly in front of them before they could draw their weapons, affirming the Russians' suspicions about them. Bullets peppered the ground at their heels as they charged the three remaining men that guarded the gangway with Ludwig in the lead.

He dipped his right shoulder and rammed the man on the left, knocking him to the hard metal ground. A bullet grazed his forearm, tearing through the Prussian blue fabric of his uniform, but he paid it no mind and kicked the fallen guard's weapon away, sending it skittering off of the platform.

Antonio shot the middle man point blank in the head,a grim expression on his face as his free hand went to the pocket of his vest for more bullets.

The third man, realizing he was alone, turned and fled, leaving the gangway unguarded.

"Move!" Antonio boomed, and they raced into the enemy ship, a flurry of bullets and outraged voices following them.

"Quick, pull the gangway door up!" Arthur yelled as they entered the control room.

"I can't find the damn lover!" Ludwig exclaimed furiously, frantically running around the interior, searching for the lever that would shield them from the men outside.

"Found it!" Antonio shouted, racing to the north wall. "At least, I think—"

"_Kapitän_, just try it," Ludwig yelled, shooting a man that attempted to follow them up the gangway.

"Okay, okay!" He cranked the lever upwards, and the gangway responded immediately, its oiled hinges offering no resistance as it closed, muffling the outside shouts of the aerodrome workers.

"Thank _Gott_," his second mate breathed in the tense silence that followed.

"No time to rest," Arthur said curtly. "Now, we find Braginski." He crossed over to where Antonio stood, and studied the diagram of the ship that spanned most of the length of the north wall. "If we're here," he mused, tapping the lowest level with a slim finger, "then that means Braginski will probably be—"

"Halt!" Someone ordered in heavily accented English.

The four men turned in shock to face the newcomer, who stood in the doorway, two massive guns in each of her slender hands. Her lovely emerald eyes flew open in amazement as she exclaimed, "Ludwig?"

* * *

Lovina watched the gangway to the _Constanza_ close and felt almost nauseous.

"Don't make that face," Tino told her, hugging her. "It'll be alright."

Lovina didn't reply, she just stood there limply before pushing him away and grumbling something inaudible.

"Well, I'll be in the radio room waiting to hear from Mathias and Vash," the Finn said. "Why don't you come with me, hmm? I could help you learn Morse code!"

"Yeah, okay," she agreed reluctantly, if only because it would take her mind away from worrying quite so much. "You'll be okay here, Feli?" She asked her sister.

"Ve, I'll be okay," the younger Vargas twin answered, gripping Amelia's trusty pistol for reassurance.

"I'll wait down here," Heracles informed Tino quietly, only the slightest note of anxiety detectable in his deep voice.

Tino nodded, and turned to follow Lovina up the stairs to the radio room.

An hour passed, and still nothing happened.

Lovina's stomach churned nervously. She hated being here. They were practically sheep in the middle of a pack of prowling wolves, she thought. And they had the benefit of being inside the _Constanza_—the others were not nearly so well protected.

"Why don't you sit down?" Tino suggested, watching her with concern as she continued to pace back and forth.

"No," she said shortly. How could he be so calm? Didn't he care about his friends? But she knew that wasn't a fair assumption. He had known these men years longer than she had. Still. She clenched her fists, hating the feeling of helplessness that threatened to take control of her.

"Hey…did you hear that?" He asked suddenly, frowning.

"Hear what?" She replied, turning sharply to face him.

"It sounded…like…I don't know," he said slowly, his frown deepening. He walked over to the speaker on the dashboard of the control room, turning the dial that switched the speaker system on. "Heracles?" He asked.

"Sorry, Tino. That was just Mathias and Vash. They've landed on the top deck."

The small man's face lit up. "Thank God!" He cried, beaming.

Ten minutes later, Mathias rushed into the radio room, holding the unconscious first mate of the _Santa Maria_ in a fireman's lift.

"Mathias," his friend exclaimed happily, but his joy quickly disappeared upon seeing Vash.

"Shit, what happened?" Lovina yelped, upon seeing that the smaller blond's entire right shoulder soaked in blood.

"Shot," Mathias answered tersely, panting with exertion. "Fainted. Blood loss. Tino, call Heracles—"

"On it," he affirmed, rushing back to the dashboard. He turned the dial, but the device made an odd sputtering noise, refusing to connect Tino to the speaker system. "What the hell?!"

"Is it not working?" Lovina asked worriedly.

"I don't know," Tino said, smacking the dashboard in frustration. "Lovina, will you get him, then? Mathias, take Vash to the sick bay—"

But then, the sound of a gunshot pierced the ears of everyone present, and they all froze.

"Feli," Lovina whispered. She recovered first. She grabbed a rifle from the rack on the wall and raced towards the control room, not even waiting for Tino to follow. She ran towards the radio room just in time to see Heracles struggling against—what? She walked into the room, propping her gun up like Amelia showed her. She could see a thin arm wrapped around Heracles' tanned neck, with a knife pressed to it.

Heracles' forest green eyes darted over to where she stood in the doorway, and he just barely shook his head. What? Was he warning her?

Lovina glanced at her sister. Oh, God, she had a giant cut on her forehead, and she had her hands in the air, her gun on the ground in front of her. What? Why? Oh.

Whoever was holding Heracles captive also had a gun. And it was pointed directly at Feliciana.

Oh. _Oh. _Time slowed to a complete stop. _What do I do, what do I do?_ Lovina thought frantically. The assailant hadn't seen her yet—she could only see part of the person, a small woman, behind Heracles' solidly built body. The gun shook in her hands. She had no idea what to do. Her sister and her friend were in danger, and she was absolutely useless. She became aware that the intruder was talking. _Listen_, she mentally told herself. _Pay attention, dammit! Maybe you can figure out what to do!_

"…will radio the _Dmitri Donskoi_ and alert General Braginski to your presence," she was saying, "or I will slit his throat, and then I will shoot you, understand?" She turned her head to look Feliciana dead in the eye, and Lovina finally got a look at her.

She was petite and strikingly beautiful, like a china doll, but so much deadlier. She barely came up to Heracles' shoulder, but the predatory look in those lovely eyes indicated that she was not to be trifled with. "I _said_, understand?" She repeated, pressing the knife into Heracles' neck so that a few drops of ruby colored blood leaked out.

"_Si_, _si_," Feli said shakily, walking over to the radio. She hesitated, obviously trying to stall for time as her hands fluttered over the controls, uncertain as to what to do.

"Don't waste my time," the woman warned in an icy tone.

Lovina dared to inch forward, and the woman's eyes seized on her like a hawk. She raised her gun, alarmed, and prepared to fire on Feli's turned back—

_BANG!_

"Feli!" Lovina screamed, racing forward.

Her sister whirled around, horrified. "What—"

The woman was on the ground.

The three crew members turned around, and saw Tino standing in the doorway behind Lovina, a grim expression on his face and a rifle in his arms. "Are you alright, Heracles?" He asked the bo'sun in concern.

The Greek man nodded complacently. "She's alive," he noted, kneeling down by the fallen woman.

She lay on the cold aluminum floor of the ship, her silvery blonde hair fanning out behind her like a halo, a pool of blood seeping from the bullet hole just above herheart. She coughed, splattering her exquisite purple uniform with the maroon liquid.

"Who are you?" Tino demanded, pointing the rifle at her porcelain forehead.

She laughed over the hacking coughs that shook her slender body. "Natalya Arlovskaya," she spat out. "You won't…be able…to stop him…"

"What?" Lovina said roughly. "What the fuck is she talking about?" She was still shaking. She couldn't believe she had almost lost her _sorella_.

"Answer the questions," Heracles instructed calmly, dabbing at the slight cut on his neck with the collar of his jacket.

She just smirked. "You'll see."

"If you cooperate with us, we can get you medical attention," Tino told her, not taking his gun off of her. "Do you agree?"

Arlovskaya snorted derisively. "Idiot," she said softly, her dark eyes starting to dim a little. "I wouldn't sell out my country like that." She coughed again, harder this time, and then lay quite still.

"She's dead," Feli breathed, staring down at the woman at their feet. "Dead…"

"She would've killed you," Tino said, looking at her with worry.

"I'm not blaming you," Feli said, shaking her head, although there were tears in her eyes. "I've just…never seen someone get shot like that…" Lovina hugged her tightly.

"I'm glad you're okay," she mumbled. "When she pointed that gun at you, I—"

"Heracles, we need you to tend to Vash," Tino said suddenly, redirecting their attention. "Mathias took him to the sick bay, but he's had a bullet in him for the past few hours—"

"Right," the mild-mannered bo'sun agreed, nodding. "Let's go. You two should come with us. I don't think we should split up anymore, just in case more people sneaked onto the ship."

"What about…" Lovi swallowed, looking down at the body on the floor.

"You let us deal with that later," Tino said gently, his eyes softening slightly. "Don't look at her."

But Lovina knew that that image would be burned into her mind for quite some time.

Feli squeezed her hand tightly as they followed behind the two men. "Are you okay, Lovi?" She asked, looking at her sister seriously.

"I'm not the one who almost got shot," Lovi responded, frowning.

"I know," the other brunette replied. "But you've always been more sensitive—"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, clinging tightly to her younger sister's hand. "I'm okay if you are."

"Okay," Feli agreed, smiling gently, picking up Amelia's gun and slinging it over her shoulder. "Okay."

* * *

_Wow, that's a lot to take in for one chapter. Hope it wasn't too confusing ~ _

_The woman, man with glasses, and young boy that Kiku, Amelia, Jack, and Toris encountered are Ukraine, Estonia, and Latvia (I figured that was obvious, but just to clarify...)_

_And the one who died, on the Constanza? That's Belarus, of course. She's craaaazy! And fun to write. How did she get on there, anyway? Ahhh, wait until you find out what she did..._

_Who is the woman that Ludwig encountered, hmmm? _

_Ahhh haha sorry I keep teasing you GerIta fans...it's actually not intentional at all. There's just no way to flesh out Ludwig's history right now. BUT SOON. Who is Ludwig? Who is Heinrich? What is going on with this story? I THOUGHT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE JUST ROMANCE_

_The Dmitri Donskoi is Russia's flagship. I would've mentioned the name of it earlier, but the title would have been in Russian on the ship, and none of the current group could read Russian, so it wouldn't make sense for the reader to know, either._

_*Has anyone seen Into the White (2012)? It's a Norwegian film about some British and German pilots during WWII, and Captain Davenport REALLY reminds me of a (less fiery) version of Artie, so I had to quote him, haha. _

_Also, I'm glad I finally got to write out my headcanon of Tino being a crack shot. And an overprotective friend. My precious little Finn. I'll try to have the next chapter up soon-it'll be the last one in Russia, and then...you'll see!_


	19. Ch 19 - Who's Gonna Stop Me?

**A/N: And now for my favorite thing to do: writing about some hella fierce ladies. This and Ch. 20 were originally one chapter, but as it was 8,000+ words, I decided to split it up, so that it would be less confusing. It goes in chronological order for the most part, but some passages happen simaltaneously, from different POVs...I had my darling actualhippo beta it, but if it's confusing, you could PM me or let me know in a review, and I'll try to clarify. **

* * *

Antonio glanced between the brunette and his second mate, baffled. How on earth did they know each other?

Ludwig blinked, apparently as shocked as the rest of them were. "E-Elizabeta?" He managed incredulously. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," she replied, not lowering her weapons. "Does Gilbert know you're here, I wonder?"

"_N-nein_," he answered, shaking his head furiously.

"Would someone kindly inform the rest of us what is going on?" Arthur interrupted, keeping his Derringer trained on the Elizabeta woman.

"Eli?" Ludwig asked, comprehension dawning on his fair features. "Do you…do you work with the Russian Army?"

She laughed bitterly. "If you could call it that." Without taking her eyes off of them, she reached behind her and bolted the door closed, preventing their escape. "I'll tell you everything if you drop your weapons."

"Absolutely not," Arthur snapped, but Ludwig shook his head.

"_Nein,_ Captain Kirkland, we can trust her."

"Wait…did you say you knew Gilbert?" Antonio asked suddenly. "Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

The woman turned her attention on him for the first time. "Yes," she said slowly in her rather low-pitched voice. "But first…weapons. Drop them."

Arthur and Antonio exchanged a heavy look before Antonio said, "Ludwig? Are you sure?"

The youngest man didn't hesitate. "_Ja_._"_

Slowly, the four men crouched down and placed their weapons on the floor. The woman did the same.

"Very well," she said, folding her muscled arms across her chest and studying each of them in turn. "I am Elizabeta Edelstein. I am a drill sergeant in the Russian Army, but no, it was not of my choosing. I was a sparring master in Budapest, before Hungary fell to the Russian Empire." She gritted her teeth. It was obviously a sore spot with her. "One of the higher-ups, a lieutenant from Warsaw, forced me to enlist. I would have refused, but they threatened my family…" Her voice trailed off and she swallowed hard. "My husband is somewhere in the city. They said they're only keeping him because the city needs more young musicians and artists, but…" Her determined gaze turned to Antonio. "And yes, I know Gilbert. We grew up together."

"Come with us, then," Antonio suggested earnestly. "We can help you, Mrs. Edelstein. Any friend of Ludwig or Gil—"

"Thank you, but I cannot," the Hungarian woman said firmly. "Not with Roderich and my parents as political prisoners. But, I can help you."

"How?" Alistair asked, frowning slightly.

She smiled grimly. "You're here to capture the general, right? General Braginski?"

They nodded.

"I can tell you where he is. And I can shut down the main power grid, so he can't escape or communicate with the other ships here," she said.

"So if he is on board?" Arthur inquired.

Elizabeta laughed humorlessly. "Oh, yes. The _Dmitri Donskoi_ is his pride and joy. He spends most of his time here. Now…" She walked over to the door. "Pick up your weapons, men. The generator that I need to turn off is on the lowest level. We'll probably run into some guards on the way there…"

Antonio grinned, picking up his gun and falling into step behind her. Elizabeta, yes, the name sounded familiar now. He recalled Gilbert speaking quite highly of her, and now he saw why. She was quite fearsome.

"You should be okay with me, but don't say anything or draw attention to yourselves, just in case. Just follow my lead," she continued.

The men complied, following her out into the dimly lit hallway of the magnificent airship.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Arthur muttered to Ludwig, falling into step with the taller man.

"I trust her with my life," Ludwig affirmed softly. "She is like an older sister to me."

"Stay back for a moment," the sargent instructed them. They reached a tall, steel door, and she tapped the round red button to the right of it, turning on the speaker. "Lieutenant Łukasiewicz? It's me, Sergeant Edelstein. Unbolt the door."

A gusty sigh crackled through the speakers. "What's the password?" A rather feminine-sounding voice replied.

The brunette woman scowled. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Felicks. Open the damn door."

"Girl, you need to loosen up. It's unlocked…geez."

She turned back to the men and held a finger to her lips and motioned for them to wait as she slipped through the door. "Sorry about that," they heard her say.

"You'd, like, better be. I don't need your attitude, _Sergeant_. I—oof!"

There was an audible _thud_, and the Hungarian woman poked her head out, panting slightly. "Okay, proceed."

Curiously, the pirates walked into the generator room. "This is the emergency power generator," she explained, gesturing to the giant metal contraption in the middle of the room. "It gets its power from the boiler room below. When I shut it off, it'll cause a sufficient distraction. It should make it easier to get to the general."

"Where is the person you were talking to—" Alistair nearly tripped over an unconscious man on the ground, dressed in the same forest green uniform as Elizabeta.

"Did you kill him?" Antonio exclaimed, gently nudging the blond with a boot.

"What? No, he's just out cold. He'll be fine," she said dismissively. "Now, to get to Braginski's suite, you'll need to go all the way to the top deck at the front of the ship. He should be there, with his adviser. Whatever you do, _don't_ let that bastard near you with his pipe." She shuddered.

"Pipe?" Arthur repeated incredulously.

She nodded. "He's deadly with it. I'm going to shut off the generator now. Are you all ready?"

"Yes," Antonio answered for them.

"Alright, then." Elizabeta gingerly stepped over Łukasiewicz' body, and typed in various codes on the control panel. The emergency light flashed an angry red, but she ignored it, flipped the cover off, and—

"Wait, Mrs. Edelstein," Arthur interrupted.

"Sergeant," she corrected.

"Er, right. Sergeant Edelstein. Will you be alright, if we leave you here?" The Brit asked, frowning. He hated the idea of leaving a lady behind, even one as capable as she.

Those sea glass eyes glittered with determination as she answered, "I'll be fine," and slammed the button with a clenched fist.

Immediately, the quiet hum of the ship died down, and all of the overhead lights winked out. The room glowed dimly from the natural light of the portholes.

"You'd better go," she told them.

"Be safe," Ludwig told her, stooping down to kiss her plump cheek.

"Go," she commanded, shoving him towards the retreating backs of the two captains and Alistair. "Hurry."

With a final worried look at his old friend, Ludwig nodded, and hastily followed his friends to General Braginski.

* * *

Amelia Jones was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them. She could feel what was left of her sanity slipping away as she waited for Arthur's group to return. It was nearing twilight, when they were set to leave, and still nothing from them. She paced the interior of the _Victoria_'s galley restlessly, her hand on her pistol for reassurance.

She was in charge of keeping an eye on one of their prisoners, the sneaky one with glasses. They had separated the three of them so they couldn't communicate, after trying and failing to pry some information out of them. She didn't know this one's name yet. She didn't really care to know it, either. She didn't trust him. She didn't really care to speak to him, but she had nothing better to do.

She turned and studied him carefully, narrowing her eyes at him as she took in the slightly rumpled Russian uniform, beady blue eyes that watched her like a hawk, a sharp, beaky nose, and slim frame. This was no fighter; this was a man who was used to working behind the scenes and orchestrating matters. This was a man who possessed knowledge, her soldier's instinct told her. Suddenly, an idea came to her, half out of boredom, half out of determination. So far, they had been unable to extract anything from their prisoners; the woman was surprisingly unwilling—despite her teary responses—to sell out her leaders, and the little boy was as well, who they found out was only seventeen.

"You know," she commented casually to the man, "you had the gall to take our ship, and I don't even know your name. I'm Amelia F. Jones!" She gave him half a smile to show that she wasn't trying to be threatening.

He snorted. "How very nice to meet you," he said sarcastically in clipped English, staring at her judgmentally from over the rims of his silver-framed glasses. She couldn't fault him for being grumpy; she did have him tied to the chair in a rather chilly room. But then, he deserved it.

"Well, aren't ya gonna tell me your name?" She said coquettishly, planting one hand on her hip and leaning against the wall, rather close to him.

"Not that it matters, but it's Major von Bock," he said coolly, narrowing his eyes at her.

"A major, huh?" She said conversationally, raising her fair eyebrows at him. "That's pretty high up, I guess." _Actually, if he was telling the truth, that would make him a senior officer in the army_, she mused._ Interesting_. "You got a first name, Major?"

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Why does it matter?"

"Cause I might be able to help you," she said, rolling her eyes as if it was obvious. "If you work with us, we might be able to get you some kind of amnesty when we turn you over to international authorities."

"Thanks, but no thanks," he replied, unimpressed. "My salary is high enough that you couldn't hope to bribe me with your petty American dollars or misguided sense of justice ."

Internally, she seethed. _He doesn't even have a shred of loyalty. It's all about numbers to him._ She hated people like that, nationality aside. This wasn't working. She needed to lay it on a bit more. "I wasn't talking about bribing you," she said, putting on an injured air. "You're obviously a man of honor. Even I can tell that." Was it her imagination, or did he sit up a little straighter in his chair? She had to bite back laughter. "But when all of this is over, you're gonna wish you had sided with us," she added in a sing song voice, smiling at him sweetly. Someone who knew her well would have been able to detect the warning note in her voice, but not this man.

"Somehow, I doubt that. The history books will tell of the many accomplishments of the Russian Empire. When all this is over, I'll be quite comfortably fitted out in my own home, with my own servants to wait on me, and the respect I deserve. And that is worth more than anything you can offer me, Miss Jones," von Bock finished in what he no doubt considered an impressive tone.

Amelia stiffened. She hated hearing 'Miss Jones' coming from his lips. It reminded her too much of Arthur. "You can just call me Amelia, you know," she purred in a lower voice than she normally used. Turning her back to him for a moment, she removed her outer coat, revealing a tight-fitting, dark blouse that hugged her every curve. She hung it on the back of his chair, leaning over him as she did so. Ugh. She could hear his breathing quicken. _Yeah, I know you're looking, you disgusting toe rag_, she thought, smiling widely at him as she stepped back. "That's better. It's getting a bit warm, don't you think?"

"Er," he said, unable to formulate something snarky to say, for once.

She grinned. "So, this General Braginski," she said, walking slowly around his chair in a circle. "What's he like, hmm? I'm sure you get to talk to him a lot, Major von Bock." At the mention of his title, she saw him visibly inflate. _Ugh. He was so vain_.

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but I do get to talk to him quite frequently," von Bock said, shrugging his shoulders in false modesty. "He is quite a formidable man, our general. He basically coerced the Russian monarchy into following him into war."

"You mean he's the reason for _all_ of this?" She asked, astonished, momentarily breaking out of her flirtatious mode. She thought of the war-torn lands of the Ukraine and Poland and Hungary that they had passed over, and shivered. She had thought that he was only acting on orders. To think that one general had so much power…well. It was frightening. She remembered those child-like lilac eyes and felt shivers run down her spine.

"Well, yes," von Bock answered, his greedy eyes tracing the outline of her body through her clothing. She tried not to shudder under his frank gaze. "Anyone can see what an influential man he is. He is the sole force behind the modernization of eastern Europe. He has great plans, General Braginski."

She pretended to shudder out of fear. "He is quite scary," she said, hugging herself.

"Perhaps it is you who should be throwing yourself on my mercy," von Bock suggested. "I can guarantee that your little friends won't come out of this scrape unscathed. General Braginski will view this act as the highest of treasons. But perhaps, if you can convince me, I can find a way to spare your life." He leered at her, making it quite plain what she could do to "convince" him.

Amelia actually did shudder this time. God, he was disgusting. _Oh, Artie, I'm sorry about this, _she thought to herself as she steeled herself for what was to come next. She casually planted herself in his lap, causing his entire face to turn brick red. "I would _so_ appreciate that, Major," she said in a husky voice, marching her fingers up his chest as she leaned forward so that their faces were only inches apart. "It hasn't been easy, you know," she continued in that voice, making her eyes go as wide as possible as she turned the full force of her baby blue gaze on him. "Being on this ship with all of these crazy pirates. It's been a nightmare. I never wanted this. I just wanted a normal life…" Her fingers hovered at the collar of his military jacket, teasingly popping open the top button. "A normal home…" Her mouth was at his ear. "Normal friends…" She breathed against his lips. "A good man…" She felt his breathing quicken as her fingers opened the front of his shirt, and moved slowly across his chest. He had to have some papers on him or something, something that they could use for information… She flinched when she felt one of his hands reach up and cup part of her ass, but he didn't notice, and she only murmured in his ear, "Oh, Major…" as she brushed a kiss against his jaw. Her fingers opened the inside of his jacket, and she began to search the pockets.

"What are you doing?" He asked, pulling away suddenly.

_Fuck it_, she thought to herself, and leaned in to kiss him hard, sufficiently distracting him as her hands were free to roam his clothing. He responded enthusiastically, despite the fact that he was still tied to the chair. That certainly didn't stop his hands from roaming where they could. Finally! Her hands procured a small sheaf of papers from the inside of his coat. _How did you miss this, Jack? _She wondered incredulously. But then, he had been looking for weapons, and this would be missed in a simple pat down. Relieved, she pulled back, smiling triumphantly at him.

"What did you take?" He asked suspiciously, his eyes widening in horror when he realized that something was missing.

"Nothing you'll miss, _Major_," she said sardonically, clambering out of his lap. She smirked at the astonished man, looking quite dazed and more than a little angry. Her voice was as sweet as honey as she added, "And if you ever touch my ass again, I will shove my boot so far up your—"

"God, that was nauseating," someone said from behind her.

"Jack!" She exclaimed, whirling suddenly to see her friend standing in the doorway. "How-how long were you standing there?" She reached a hand up to fix her hair, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. She could tell from his smirk that she would never hear the end of this.

"Too long," the Australian commented, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What have you got there, Amelia?"

"Some letters, it looks like," she said cheerfully, eyeing her prize happily, ignoring the angry cursing in Estonian from behind her. "These should be useful for Toris. He can read these."

"Excellent," Jack said, still smirking. "I know you worked hard for those."

She stuck her tongue out at him childishly. "Let's just get out of here. Why did you come in here, anyway?" She asked, following him out of the galley, leaving behind their prisoner to wallow in self-pity.

He stopped suddenly, and turned to face her. "I don't want you to worry…" He began, causing her heart to sink into her boots.

All the color drained out of her pinkened face as she said, "Jack…?"

"Well, we just got a message from Braginski's flagship," he continued slowly as they headed back towards the control room, where Kiku and Toris waited.

"Just tell me," the American said impatiently, her blue eyes huge with worry.

"Antonio just wired us, and said that Braginski escaped," he said, as they joined the others.

"What?" She exclaimed. "Well, what about the crew? Are they okay?"

Toris looked up when she entered. "We lost signal," he said, looking concerned. "We reached the _Constanza_ on radio. They're going to wait for them, but we have to leave now."

"I'm not leaving without them," Amelia said fiercely, her eyes flashing. "Now, did they leave Braginski's ship yet?"

Kiku and Toris exchanged a glance. "We don't know," the first mate said slowly. "We lost signal right after—" He stopped, biting his lip. The Japanese man looked unusually anxious.

"After what? I thought you just lost signal after Antonio spoke," she said, looking accusingly at Jack, who raised his hands in surrender.

"I thought we did," he said defensively. "I wasn't here for the broadcast. I was just told that—"

"What else did you hear?" She interrupted uneasily.

"We lost signal right after Mr. Kirkland yelled the captain's name," Kiku said, his brown eyes watching her apprehensively. "We heard a gunshot, but—Amelia, wait! You have to stay here! We'll be leaving any minute now!"

But she ignored them. She grabbed a rifle from the table of weapons nearby and raced towards the gangway, trying to tell herself that her friends were fine. She heard the other three shouting and the pounding of boots after her, probably Jack, but she couldn't wait for him. Not when Arthur was possibly in danger.

"You better not die on me, Arthur Kirkland," she told herself, patting her pockets for a round of bullets as she headed towards the exit. "You better not, Artie."

* * *

_Yes, y'all were right! The woman that Ludwig recognized was Elizabeta Edelstein, nee Hedervary, a.k.a. our darling Hungary! She's so badass, I adore her so much. Casually slipping in AusHun...sorry Gil /3_

_And Amelia being a conniving minx is also really fun to write. Eduoard von Bock is APH Estonia, in case you were confused. Gosh, what a tool. He's kind of annoying in canon, but I made him out to be a total jerk. Heh. And now back to the Russian flagship, where the fighting is!_


	20. Ch 20 - Burning Stars

**A/N: I apologize in advance for the feels this chapter will probably cause. I wanted to make it realistic...ugh.../crying**

**Remember, Antonio, Arthur, Ludwig, and Alistair were still on Ivan Braginski's ship when Antonio sent that message to the other two ships...this is what happened right before he did that. The fight scene you've been waiting for! (Hopefully?)**

* * *

Antonio, Arthur, Ludwig, and Alistair hovered outside the door to Braginski's inner rooms. They had made it, finally, despite lots of stumbling in the near-dark, and cursing from Alistair. If they could just capture or kill him, this would be over. Arthur paused outside of the door, listening for any noise behind it. He met the eyes of the other man standing there, and nodded. He reached out and opened the door, kicking it open and holding his revolver out in front of him. The other three proceeded behind him.

Arthur's eyes swept across the room. It was some sort of lavish entryway into a more private bedroom, a few feet away. The walls were lined with portraits of various Russian notables that he didn't care to learn the names of, and the floor was lined with a plush carpet with intricately sewn flowers and vines. Gold leaf wallpaper lined the entryway all the way to the luxurious entrance to the inner room, which was partitioned off by a rich purple curtain. It was all a bit too much, really. And it was completely deserted. "Proceed carefully," he whispered to them. "He's bound to be here somewhere…" From the next room, they could make out lowered voices talking quietly in Russian. They padded silently towards the source of the voices, when suddenly they stopped.

Arthur stepped forward hesitantly, about to part the curtains, and was met with a powerful blow to the face. He stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding nose and swearing. He fired randomly, but the bullet lodged itself harmlessly in the wall.

"I thought I heard someone enter," his attacker grumbled. He was rather diminutive and slender, with dark russet hair tied back in a thin ponytail. He looked rather feminine, but his stoic expression indicated that he was not someone to be taken lightly. "What do you want to do with them, General?"

Alistair made a move to fire on him again, but the older man brought his elbow crashing down onto Alistair's wrist, making the Scotsman cry out in pain and drop his weapon.

"Ah, these are our guests," someone remarked from behind the Chinese man in a cheerful tenor, parting the curtains and stepping forward. "How nice."

"We outnumber you," Ludwig panted, pointing his large Mauser rifle directly at the huge Russian man.

He only smiled. "There is no need for that, friends," he continued with a chuckle. "You are my prisoners now, _da_? It is only fair, since you broke into my ship."

"You _burned_ mine," Antonio cried furiously, his green eyes sparking like lightning. "You hear that, you fucker?" He knew they were supposed to take him alive, but he was so angry all of a sudden that he could hardly breathe. He clicked the safety off of his gun and prepared to shoot the larger man square in the head, but with snake-like speed, a pipe emerged seemingly out of nowhere and swung at him, narrowly missing his head as he ducked. "Ludwig," he shouted to his second mate, who nodded and attempted to tackle Braginski, forcing him against the wall. He was almost as tall as the Russian, but Braginski was a great deal stockier.

His accomplice, however, got Ludwig in a headlock when he wasn't paying attention, bringing the taller man down to his level. "I will break your neck," he told the German calmly. "Don't think I won't." Ludwig gasped, unable to reply as the Chinese man squeezed on his windpipe.

"Now the real fun begins," Braginski said with a wide smile, turning to the other three men. Alistair managed to get his pistol from the ground before Braginski's foot came down, nearly breaking all of the fingers in his right hand. "Guns are so impersonal. They don't let you really fight," he continued, approaching them despite the three guns trained on him.

"Not another step," Arthur commanded sharply, forcing himself not to retreat any further. Braginski was going to force them out of his private quarters if they weren't careful, leaving their backs exposed to the open passageways of the airship.

Braginski stepped forward, smiling that incredibly disarming smile.

He fired directly at his heart.

Braginski kept coming. He barely flinched.

Arthur felt all the blood drain away from his face. "What in the hell…"

He fired again, at his shoulder this time.

"Oh, that one might bruise," Braginski said, his smile starting to fade as he reached out and grabbed Arthur's gun, wrenching it away from him. "But not like this is going to."

"He's wearing some kind of protective gear," Ludwig yelled, ignoring the bodyguard's death grip. "Fire—at his head—"

Antonio raised his gun to fire, but Braginski brought his pipe down on his arm. Antonio gave a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, clutching his injured arm. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck—"

Ludwig somehow managed to break away from his captor by kicking his legs out from under him. He hopped onto Braginski's back, slipping his arms under his armpits so that he could wrap his around his neck, disabling the other man's arms. "Grab the pipe!" He yelled at Alistair, who hastily ran forward and yanked it out of his hands.

"Ah, you have managed to disarm me," the Russian said, sounding mildly disappointed. "I suppose you will be wanting me to go quietly now, da?"

Ludwig grabbed the pistol that Arthur shoved at him and held it to Braginski's head, hissing in his ear, "Tell your dog to step down now."

"Yao, you may want to listen to him…for now," Braginski said in his sickeningly sweet voice. His companion looked like he wanted nothing better than to kill all four of them right now.

Arthur watched them incredulously, panting with exertion. If he didn't know better, he would've sworn that the general was almost _enjoying_ the fight. "Antonio, are you alright?" He asked his friend, who clutched his wounded hand.

"I think it's broken," the Spaniard said in a tight voice. He tried flexing his fingers and hissed in pain.

Braginski let out a low chuckle.

Ludwig responded by whipping him in the back of his head with the pistol. A steady stream of blood began to trickle from the soft, snowy hair of the general. "Ah, that did hurt a little," he said, resentment beginning to seep into his voice a little.

"I'll be alright, though," Antonio added, glaring at his enemy venomously. "Let's take him back to the ship. Alistair, you take his friend."

"Walk," Ludwig commanded, nudging Braginski forward with the pistol, now trained at the back of his neck.

"Where to?" Braginski asked cheerfully, as Alistair followed behind them with Yao in tow.

"The _Victoria_," Arthur said acidly, glancing back at him to give him a look that was full of pure hate. "You know, the ship that you stole."

"I do remember that," Braginski said, smiling so that nearly all of his teeth were visible. Arthur couldn't help but think how wolfish he looked. "It was delightfully easy. Only part of the plan, of course. Eastern Europe has already fallen to the empire. Next…" He chuckled.

_He was insane. He had to be_, Arthur thought, as they marched out of the entryway and onto the top deck of the _Dmitri Donskoi. _No one else could be so calm about being captured. _He has to know that he will die soon…_They left his private chambers through a different doorway, which opened out onto the uppermost deck of the _Dmitri Donskoi_. Only a hundred feet or so overhead loomed the ceiling of the aerodrome. They could see every single airship from where they stood out on the open deck.

They still had to get down to the first level, where the gangway was, before they could exit the ship and get back to their own, but all of a sudden, a low buzzing noise distracted them. They looked around the deck, deserted except for some scattered crates and extra ballast, baffled.

"What the hell is going on?" Alistair exclaimed, as the floor beneath them began to shake. "Braginski! What are you—"

He just laughed.

All of a sudden, a small plane emerged from a hooded outlet some fifty yards away, what they now realized was a hidden hangar, tearing towards them at an astonishing speed, given that it wasn't airborn yet. The small wheels of the landing gear turned furiously fast and the fan in front of it spun dangerously closer and closer to them, its wicked sharp blades threatening to make mincemeat of them. Instinctively, Ludwig pushed away from Braginski, shoving him towards the propeller blades as he hit the ground, narrowly avoiding being run over by the plane. He rolled out of the path of the oncoming biplane, his former captive's high laughter mocking him as he saw, too late, the Russian running towards it and climbing into the backseat of the plane.

"Excellent timing, Lieutenant," he heard him say to the pilot, whom he dimly recognized as the man that Elizabeta had knocked out earlier. "Let's go."

"Don't let him get away!" Arthur yelled. "Raise the _Constanza_ or the _Victoria_ on the radio! Now! Someone!" He ran after the plane, which picked up speed as it moved across the smooth floorboards of the empty deck, picking up momentum as it prepared to take off.

Antonio ran towards the radio receiver in the room that they had just left, frantically trying to communicate with their friends. "You have to stop them!" He yelled, furiously trying to communicate to his crew mates the importance of their mission. "Braginski is getting away! He's in the biplane! They're about to leave the ship! You can't let them go!"

"Mr. Carriedo?" Kiku exclaimed. "Please, I can't understand—"

"DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"

"Okay, okay, I'll see what we can do—"

He turned away from the radio, not bothering to turn it off as he ran over to where Arthur, Alistair, and Ludwig were on the center of the deck, trying to pick him off with their guns, as the plane had left the ship and began to rise steadily towards the opening in the very top of the aerodrome. He got out his own gun and tried to take aim, but it was no use. His gun hand was broken. He cursed loudly, watching helplessly as the plane disappeared out of sight into the approaching twilight.

In the chaos, they had forgotten about Braginski's accomplice. The man called Yao was still quite capable of attacking them, and he did. Arthur was too busy trying to shoot down Braginski's plane that he didn't notice Yao, hiding behind one of the many crates on the deck, take aim at him.

But his brother did.

"Arthur!" He shouted, tackling his younger sibling to the unforgiving deck as Yao fired, hitting the giant redhead just below his kneecap. He gave a roar of pain, rolling over and clutching his wounded leg.

Ludwig saw him this time as he raced across the deck towards lower ground. The German fired at him, but he was simply too quick, and scampered away into the lower levels of the ship as effortlessly as a snake.

"_Nein_," he whispered to himself. This was all going wrong, so wrong. Now he would go and warn the rest of the crew. They had to leave. "_Kapitän!_ We have to go! Braginski's bodyguard is going for help! We have to leave, now!"

Antonio looked up from where he crouched next to a wounded Alistair and frantic Arthur, his green eyes clouded with anger. "Right," he said, gritting his teeth the blinding pain in his broken left hand. "We can chase him down from one of our ships."

"You idiot, what were you thinking?" Arthur exclaimed furiously as he helped Alistair to his feet, taking on most of his weight as he draped his arm around his shoulders.

"You were the one not thinking," Alistair protested, wheezing in pain. Dark red blood poured out from a hole in his right trouser leg. He tried putting weight on it and stumbled forward, cursing loudly as it threatened to give out from under him. "Yer lucky I saved your sorry ass."

Arthur didn't have a response for once. He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. He couldn't look at his brother's wound. It was too horrible. What if the bullet had shattered his kneecap? What if he was lame for life? What if—

"We have to hurry," Ludwig urged, as they began to make their way back down. "I'm sorry, Captain Kirkland. We can tend to his wounds later, but now—"

"You two get going," Arthur said, gritting his teeth against his brother's weight. "We'll be right behind you. _Go_," he added for emphasis, seeing Antonio's hesitant look.

The _Santa Maria _men nodded, running slightly ahead of them as they kicked open the door to Braginski's now vacated chambers. Fortunately, they were still deserted.

"Agh, sorry, laddie," Alistair apologized as they lagged further and further behind the other two men. He left a steady trail of blood behind him as his right leg dragged uselessly between them.

"Don't you dare apologize, you wanker," Arthur said fiercely, readjusting his weight as he helped them both down the stairs. "Slow down a bit, you two!" He called after Ludwig and Antonio, whose voices were already fading as they ran further down the winding staircase to the lower decks.

"Don't apologize? That's a first—OW," Alistair yelped, as his leg brushed with the wall.

"Ah, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Arthur cried. "Just a bit further, chap, and then we'll get you patched up—"

"Ah, it's nice to know that you care a wee bit," Alistair said sardonically, grinding his teeth together to keep from crying out at the sharp, aching pain in his knee.

"Of course I do," Arthur said gruffly, as they made it to the second level. "You're my brother."

Alistair would have turned his head to look at him strangely, but it was still too dim in the airship to make out his facial expressions. He couldn't remember if Arthur had ever acknowledged their relationship out loud before. "Arthur—" He began, but the captain cut him off.

"Stow it. Don't you dare get sentimental on me now, you fool. It's not like you're dying or something."

"If I'd known that spending quality time with you only meant getting shot, well, then—"

"I'm not kidding, Alistair," the blond growled. "Ah, fuck, I think we lost the other two."

"You did tell them to go on ahead," his brother reminded him practically.

"Yes, but—shit." He rounded the corner. They were on the first deck now, and Antonio and Ludwig were nowhere to be seen. "Where do we go?" The long corridor that led from the stairway stretched out ominously before them, a dark, silvery path with multiple doors that could lead to anywhere. "Which way did we come in?" He asked, his voice starting to rise in panic.

"I don't remember," Alistair admitted. "Let's try the one at the end, eh? And make it quick, if you don't mind."

They reached the door after some struggle; Alistair was quickly weakening from blood loss, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. With his free arm, Arthur opened the door. The corridor became flooded with light from the aerodrome. They were at the gangway, at last. Now they could finally get back to the ship. "Finally," Arthur breathed in relief, helping Alistair over the small doorstep and out to the exterior of the _Dmitri Donskoi._

"There you are," Antonio exclaimed with some relief, cradling his damaged hand. "We were about to come looking for you! Alistair!"

The stocky redhead passed out, nearly bringing his much thinner brother to the deck with him.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, if you would—" Arthur began in a strangled voice.

The young man raced forward and took the arm that wasn't draped around Arthur and put it over his own shoulders, relieving the burden somewhat as they managed to get Alistair back to his feet. His head hung down listlessly in front of him, making him look uncannily like a corpse. "Right," he said. "Time to go." They headed down the gangway as quickly as possible, leaving the monstrous airship behind them as they made their way over to the silver platform that connected the moored _Dmitri Donskoi_ to the rest of the aerodrome. They had barely made it ten feet when they heard the peppering of bullets behind them.

* * *

The sound of gunfire drew Amelia's attention. Her head swiveled towards the sound. There, on the sixth level of the building, she could distinguish four figures heading towards the stairwell against the wall. Instinctively, she bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time in her desperation to get to them.

"Run, I'll cover you!" She yelled to Antonio and Ludwig, whom she saw first. A small group of guards pursued them from the far end of the platform, guns aimed at them. She began picking them off as quickly as she could as Antonio and Ludwig turned to stand by her. Ludwig managed to get a few shots in, but Antonio was next to useless when firing with his non-dominant hand, and only managed to fire at the ground or the feet of the guards that charged them. They ducked behind a nearby airship to catch their breath, waiting for the rest of the guards to find them.

"Where are Arthur and Alistair?" Amelia demanded, her chest heaving with the effort of sprinting up the stairs and fighting.

"They were right behind us," Antonio said, his eyes wide with worry and a little guilt. "I swear—"

"It's okay," she said curtly. "Ludwig, we need to make sure they can get to safety." She inclined her head, and he nodded, and the two of them poked their heads out from behind their shelter, just in time to see the guards charging at them. There were only five or so left, but they didn't like the odds. Ludwig took Antonio's now unused gun as well as his own and fired them both, taking out two men, while Amelia picked off one and then another. They were about to shoot the last man, but he was badly wounded, and collapsed to the ground in front of them, watching them resentfully as they ran past him in search of their other comrades.

"Arthur!" Amelia yelled, upon spotting a familiar blond mop.

They were about twenty feet away, unprotected on the wide open platform, but fortunately there weren't any guards on the sixth level at the moment. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw that he was practically dragging Alistair along with him.

She and Ludwig ran over to them, Ludwig helping Arthur carry his brother to safety.

"I'm sorry, we lost sight of you—" Ludwig began, but Arthur cut him off.

"It's alright, you were only following orders. We have to get to cover now," he said, biting off the words. The stress was beginning to show on his young face.

"What happened?" Amelia asked anxiously as they ran back to the safety of their ships. The _Constanza _was on the second level, which was where the four men were supposed to report to, but Alistair needed urgent care.

"One of Braginski's men shot him in the knee," Arthur said, as they boarded the gangway. "You two should probably get back to the _Constanza_ so we can coordinate our next movement. We have to get out of here."

"It should be safe now," Ludwig agreed. "Most of the guards seem to have disappeared." Indeed, there was such a state of confusion in the aerodrome right now, that this might be their only opportunity to get back.

"We'll alert you when we get back to the ship," Antonio said. "Let's get out of here and see if can still catch that bastard." The two men headed down to the lower levels of the ship at a jog, not wanting to get caught unawares again.

Amelia slipped an arm around Alistair's wide waist as they trudged to the sick bay, and gently laid him down on one of the clean white beds.

Arthur looked down at his brother with a helpless expression on his face, gingerly brushing a sweat-soaked lock of red hair out of his grimy face. "He got shot because I was being careless," he said in a low voice. "I don't know what I'll do with myself if he can't walk, Amelia." He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes tightly.

Instinctively, Amelia wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in the nape of his neck. God, she had missed his smell. It was something like a combination of pine and tea leaves and rain. Was it really only this morning that she had seen him last? It seemed like a small eternity. "I'm just glad you're safe," she said quietly, rubbing circles in his back like her brother used to do to her when she was little and afraid. "I was really worried."

She felt him rest his chin on her shoulder, sighing deeply as his arms looped around her waist. "I managed to make it out alright. Thanks to your gun happy intervention," he added dryly.

"I wasn't gonna leave you behind," she muttered, pulling away. "That wouldn't be very heroic of me."

He looked at her strangely, trying to discern the odd tone in her voice. But then Alistair groaned, and he cursed. "We need to get Toris in here," he said quickly. "He has some medical experience. We have to get that bullet out of him."

Amelia nodded. "Right. What about Braginski?"

Arthur shook his head, opening the door for her as they walked to the meeting room on the second deck, where Toris presumably was. "I don't know. Captain Carriedo communicated with the _Constanza_, I think. All I know is that we need to get out of here." He grabbed her hand, surprised a little when she didn't pull out of his grasp. "I'm ready to leave this godforsaken country, with or without that insane general. I have my ship back, and everyone is safe. We can work out the rest later," he concluded.

Amelia nodded again. She wasn't ready to go back yet. She wanted revenge, maybe more than anyone except Antonio, since it was her fault that the _Victoria_ had been lost. But she didn't argue. She just waited anxiously with Arthur while they talked with Toris and tried to figure out what to do with Alistair.

* * *

On the _Constanza, _Tino was the first to respond to Kiku's urgent broadcast from Antonio. The small Finn turned to Heracles expectantly. "Well, Heracles, you're the senior officer," he said. "What do we do?"

"There's no way the _Constanza _can catch Braginski in that little plane, even if we did leave the aerodrome immediately. Which we can't, because we have to wait for Antonio and the others," he mused. "Maybe—"

That was when Mathias piped up with, "We have our own plane! I can chase him down! Let me go after him!"

"I don't know—" Tino began, frowning. "It's getting dark, and—"

"Oh, stow it," Mathias replied dismissively. "If I can't shoot him down, I'll come right back, I promise." He grinned hugely, not waiting for the other two to respoknd.

"Be careful," Feli called after him, but he only laughed.

"Aren't I always?" He returned, racing to the hangar on the bottom deck. There was his baby, a little battered from the flight from Kiev, but otherwise in decent shape. He lowered the ramp that opened out into the aerodrome and clambered in, snapping on his goggles securely as he nestled into the cockpit. It wouldn't be the same without Vash as his copilot, but he could handle it.

He inched the plane forward, swooping off the ramp and propelling towards the tiny opening in the ceiling. He felt his heart race as he soared through the oculus into the freezing, starlit evening. This was what he lived for, even more than sailing. Nothing could beat the feeling of the wind beneath one's wings. He craned his head, trying to find the small biplane that Kiku had briefly described. The city of Moscow unfurled beneath him, a maze of dove-colored military buildings, colorful churches, and factories that belched out black smoke. Now, where was—ah!

He narrowly missed seeing him as he guided the plane west, away from the city. Where was Braginski headed? St. Petersburg, maybe. He couldn't let him get that far. Right now, there was about a mile between them, but he could easily make that up. He cranked the lever all the way forward, mildly surprised at the plane's lack of resistance. Normally, it was difficult to go past a certain speed, but the plane flew at a relentless pace, almost as if it had no brakes. Mathias stayed at his current altitude, wanting to maintain the height difference between the two planes so that it would be harder for Braginski to spot him.

Hell, it was hard for Mathias to discern the larger plane in this dim twilight. If he didn't attack soon, he would have to head back. It was suicidal to fly by night. He approached the plane, now able to make out two figures in the plane. Dammit! Why had no one bothered to mention that there were two of them? No matter. He would take them both out. He leaned out of his plane, aiming his rifle at the cockpit. He took aim, and – _crack! _He heard the popping of bullets hammering his wings. The man in the copilot seat had seen him. Well, the element of surprise was gone now. He tapped the brakes lightly as his plane began to fly ahead of theirs—he definitely did not want to turn his back to them—and frowned when they didn't respond at all.

"What the—" The Dane muttered, pressing down harder this time. The pedal went all the way down, and the plane didn't slow down at all. "Fuck!" He yelled. He was in a plane that couldn't stop, that couldn't land. Someone must have tampered with the brakes or the landing gear. But who? No one from the _Santa Maria_ crew, and by now, Mathias trusted the _Victoria_ crew as well. Then, it hit him. The young woman that had sneaked onto the _Constanza_, the one that Tino shot. It was the only possible explanation.

Despite himself, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He furiously wiped them away with the back of his hand, using the other to steer the plane around so that he was tailing Braginski again. He glanced at the wrinkled, sepia-toned photograph on the dashboard. His eyes passed over the fine features of the woman* in the center, standing with one hand resting on the slender shoulders of the frowning young man* in front of her. To the left stood Tino with his laughing eyes and blinding smile, in stark contrast to the tall, somber-looking man* next to him, who awkwardly draped an arm around Tino and the grinning boy* between them in a sailor suit. And right in the center was Mathias, leaning heavily on the blonde woman and pointedly avoiding the camera because he was making faces at the stout Swede by Tino. Ingrid later complained that they would never be able to take a decent family photo of the six of them because he always ruined it by goofing off. He smiled sadly at the memory, running his thumb over the worn paper. He wouldn't even be able to say good-bye.

With a shaky breath, Mathias reached for the tiny, temperamental radio next to the steering wheel. _Please, God, let it work just this once_, he prayed, keeping Braginski's plane a good half mile ahead of him so that he wouldn't be shot at. God must have been listening, because a moment later, he heard a tinny voice say, "Mathias! Are you alright?"

Thank God, it was Antonio. "Boy, is it good to hear your voice, _Kaptjn_. We have, ah, a slight problem."

"What's that?" Antonio asked. Mathias could picture the face he was making, and chuckled a little. Not for the first time, he reflected that his friend was too good of a man to be a pirate.

"The brakes are damaged," he answered flatly. Why beat around the bush, right? He heard Antonio curse loudly, and someone in the background yelled, _"What?!_" He had to laugh. Oh, Tino.

"Yeah. That crazy bitch must have done something when I was with Vash. There's no way I can—I can't land, 'Tonio."

Silence. Then: "What are you going to do?" It was Heracles. Antonio must have handed the radio over to him.

Mathias swallowed. "Probably crash into the bastard," he said lightly, tilting the plane slightly forward, as Braginski's plane began to grow larger in his field of vision. "Gotta favor to ask, Herc."

"Go ahead," the Greek man said quietly.

"There's a letter in my nightstand drawer," he began, his teeth chattering with cold against the oncoming Russian night. "It's sealed. Take it to Malmö for me. Have Antonio give it to a man named Berwald Oxenstierna." He swallowed again. Damn, this was a lot harder than he would've thought. "Tino can tell you where to find him and the rest of my family." The plane was close enough now that he could see Braginski's pale features behind his scarf, watching him curiously. The other man took in Mathias' resolute expression, and he almost smiled, as if daring him to go through with it.

"I'll do that," Heracles agreed softly, and then Antonio and Tino were fighting for his attention.

"Mathias, I'm so sorry—" His captain began brokenly. He thought he could hear Lovina asking what was going on. He smiled a little.

"For what? These have been some of the best years of my life, Toni. I wish I could stick around to see you marry that girl." He laughed. "Tino, you take care now," he added with forced joviality, smiling weakly at his own joke. Tino was always the one to tell him that.

"Dammit, Mathias, this is my fault. I should've—"

"No way, Tino. Not in a million years. Fuck, I gotta go. Tell Berwald and Ingrid and Emil and Peter I love them, okay? And the others too." He slid the levers forward, racing towards Braginski so quickly now that the wind felt like it sliced open his face, despite his protective winter clothing. It was good, though. He knew he had never gone this fast before in his life, and it was exhilarating.

"Bye, Mathias," Antonio said quietly. A burst of static cut him off before Mathias could reply. The signal had been lost.

"Bye," he replied anyway. He blinked away the tears, which froze on his fair eyelashes like little diamonds. He didn't want them to obscure the beauty of the millions of stars above him, scattered against the inky background like crushed jewels. With a final rush of speed, Mathias Kǿhler plunged forward, smoothly hitting the larger biplane right in the center.

Hundreds of feet away, it looked like a new star was being born, violent and colorful and captivating against the infinity of the black velvet sky. The _Constanza_ just cleared the aerodrome in time to witness it, a giant fireball in the sky. Antonio bit back a sob as he watched through the glass pane window, helpless as his dear friend and enemy perished in a burst of golden light.

* * *

_I really really really didn't want to kill Denmark! I love him a lot! I just...felt it was appropriate, and realistic ..you can't hope to go into enemy territory and emerge with no fatalities :(_

_Also, the people in the photo: fem!Norway (Ingrid), Iceland (Emil), Sweden (Berwald), Sealand (Peter), and obviously Finland (Tino). Just to clear things up._

_Anyway, please be nice and don't break my heart with angry reviews. Believe me, I am just as sad as you are. You could go read my Nordic fic, There Is a Lovely Land, to cheer yourself up c: It has cute DenNor and bro DenSu! It might help? Shuffles away_

_I promise the next few chapters will be pretty much entirely fluff from here on out, though. PLEASE DON'T LEAVE MY STORY_


	21. Ch 21- Homeward Bound

**A/N: Wow, it's been like a month since I updated this story. I'm sorry, friends! Going back and talking about Mathias dying really takes it out of me, agh...but the story will only get happier and cuter from here on out, so do not despair!**

* * *

The next few months were rather trying for everyone. The _Constanza_ and the _Victoria_ took their three prisoners back to France and turned them over to the authorities. All together, the French awarded them a total of one hundred thousand francs for the disposal of a dangerous man, and the immediate withdrawal of Russian forces from their part of Europe. With the help of a certain French police inspector, they were even willing to overlook Antonio's criminal background.

Arthur sold the _Constanza_ back to its original owner for almost nothing, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be rid of the creaky old ship. After a brief stopover in Paris, Arthur and Alistair took the _Victoria_ back to England for repairs.

A month passed before everyone saw each other again, and then it was in Copenhagen, Denmark, for Mathias' funeral. They all managed to meet up in the bustling port city on a fine June morning. It was beautiful, too beautiful for a funeral. The city swarmed with activity. People ran through the streets, laughing and talking far too loudly in Danish on the warm, breezy day. Boats came and went, delivering fresh catches of the day as the briny wind blew in off the sea. In stark contrast to the bubbling, joyful atmosphere, their group stood somberly at the edge of a pier at the outskirts of the city, overlooking the sea.

Dressed in mourning colors, the former crew of the _Santa Maria_ and the _Victoria_ stood at the pier, listening respectfully as Mathias' adopted brother, a tall, rather taciturn man named Berwald said a few, brief words. His dark blue eyes looked empty as he spoke in Danish. It didn't matter that very few of them spoke Danish. They listened anyway, until Berwald approached Antonio, who stood at the front of their little gathering, and handed him Mathias' hat.

"What…" Antonio began, confused, but then he understood. It was Mathias' sailor hat, from his days before he joined his captain on the _Santa Maria_. He took the worn hat, a faded blue and white cap with the initials M.K. stitched into the brim, and nodded at Berwald. He walked over to the end of the pier. With a shaking breath, he tossed it into the clear, cerulean waters, and murmured, _"Adios, mi hermano_." He watched the sea carry it away with a heavy heart. He still couldn't get the image out of his mind, of Mathias' plane igniting like a supernova over the cold Russian landscape. It was seared into his memory, like a scar.

Only a few sniffles broke the peacefulness of the blissful, balmy summer afternoon. One by one, Mathias' friends slowly filed away, until only Antonio and Mathias' adopted family were left.

Berwald hadn't moved in ten minutes. He stared blankly at the water with a distant expression on his face, looking oddly detatched from reality. Leaning heavily on his arm, Tino stared out after him, his normally bright eyes tinged with red. The Finnish man hadn't cried during the ceremony, but the pain was evident in the way he held his shoulders. The two men leaned on each other for support. Next to them stood a small, slight woman, with her arm around the shoulders of a slightly taller boy with snowy hair. They managed to look even more apathetic than Berwald. Antonio knew that the woman was named Ingrid, but he always forgot her brother's name; he had only met them once before. This solemn group of people were his only family, besides his crew mates, and it broke Antonio's heart to see them so despairing. He wanted to offer some words of comfort, but honestly, words had never been his strength. His feelings always got in the way.

After a few more minutes of listening to the tide move in and out, Antonio finally turned his back on the sea, inhaling the strong, salty air. It filled his lungs and reminded him of how lucky he was to be alive. The gathering made their way back to Mathias' old apartment, where the reception would be held. Antonio dimly remembered the train ride back, talking with Vash and trying to concentrate on his steady first mate's words, but he felt so out of it. He still couldn't believe that he was gone. He vaguely remembered consuming vast quantities of rather strange tasting Danish food and beer—it didn't occur to him that beer was not appropriate for funerals until later, and then he had to laugh; it wouldn't have been appropriate if they _didn't_ have it for the beer-loving Dane—and conversing with his crew members in the sun-filled apartment. He gradually made his way over to Lovina, who sat with her sister and Heracles at the table closest to the window, with red-rimmed eyes. She didn't say anything, but covered her hand with hers when he sat down next to her, gently running her thumb over his callused palm. She didn't have to speak. She just tried to convey some small amount of comfort, and he was grateful for that.

A few days later, they split up again. Antonio and Ludwig went to Marseilles to visit his brother Gilbert; Vash went back to Switzerland to recuperate under his younger sister's watchful eyes; the Vargas girls finally returned to Rome, with promises to allow their friends to visit as soon as possible. Tino stayed behind in Copenhagen with his family for a few days before returning to Malmo with Berwald. The Kirkland trio signed up for a three month expedition to South America, joined by Kiku and Toris. Amelia decided to head back to New York for a few weeks to visit her older brother. And so, for awhile, at least, everyone went their separate ways.

At first, it was bizarre being at home, Lovina thought, as she and Feliciana rode in a chaise-and-four back to the luxurious Italian villa they shared with their grandfather. They certainly didn't look too different from the day they had left, nearly six months ago. Lovina looked lovely, if tired, in a high-waisted, midnight blue skirt and cream-colored pinstripe blouse, complete with her soft leather boots and wide-brimmed hat. Feliciana wore a similar costume in red and gold that brought out the warmth in her eyes, although she had managed to tear the hem of her skirt by hanging too far out the opening of the carriage in her excitement to see the villa. The two sisters sat on the same side of the plush seats, watching as the cobbled streets of Rome gradually gave way to the rougher roads of the countryside.

"It's this one," Lovina said to the driver as they approached. She ignored his offer of help as she lightly stepped down from the carriage, smiling slightly as Feli jumped down behind her with some of her former cheerfulness. Remembering her manners, she turned to the driver, curtsied, and said, "_Grazie_!" before tossing him a few coins. She turned to her older sister with a wide smile and grabbed her gloved hand. "Let's go," she said, her eyes shining. The young women carried their light baggage down the path to the sprawling villa, and Lovina felt her heart soar in her chest when she saw that welcome sight.

Feliciana practically raced up the pathway to the large villa, startling the servants as she skipped over a flowerbed in her haste to get to the front door. Lovina smothered a laugh as she followed behind her at a much more reasonable pace. She didn't bother with the bellpull but marched right in, dumping her bags in the foyer as she cried, "Grandpa Roma?"

Lovina could hear the pounding of heavy footsteps down the grand staircase as she closed the cream-colored doors behind her. "Is that my _bambina_?" Someone yelled.

Lovina frowned in spite of herself. "I'm here too," she mumbled with a heavy feeling in her heart. She barely had time to take in the familiar scenery of their exquisite home when a pair of burly arms swept her and Feli into a crushing hug.

"Oh, _meno Male, _you're both safe," their grandfather cried happily, squeezing them so tightly that Lovina was sure her rib cage was going to be crushed.

"Grandpa, ve," Feli squeaked, struggling in his smothering embrace. "Can't—breathe—"

"Ah, sorry," Grandpa Roma said, beaming as he stepped back. "I'm so happy to see my beautiful girls!"

Lovina flushed slightly. She wasn't used to this. Given her surly personality, Grandpa Roma naturally doted on the sunnier Vargas twin, which didn't help her negative attitude. She felt tears bloom in her eyes as she hugged him back, feeling a rush of affection for her grandfather.

"Ah, don't cry, _bella_," he said, kissing the part in her dark russet hair.

"I'm not crying," she mumbled defiantly, sniffling a little.

"Grandpa, I'm hungry," Feli began plaintively, when it became clear that her grandfather and sister appeared content to just stand in the foyer, holding onto each other.

"Of course, Feli, I'm sorry," he said with a laugh, his handsome features shining with joy. "Giovanni!" He called to the head servant, a redhead dressed in a smart black uniform. The young man approached with a smile almost as wide as his master's. He had been hovering at the base of the stairs, not wanting to interrupt their reunion. "I want you to prepare the finest meal for my granddaughters! And bring out the wine! As much as you can carry!" He added, putting an arm around each girl's shoulder and directing them to the dining room.

"Si, _senor_!" Giovanni replied with a grin, disappearing into the back of the house, where the kitchen staff worked.

Lovina felt a smile spread across her face as they entered the dining room. The walls were painted a wonderfully warm butter yellow, enhanced by the golden sunlight that poured in from the Venetian windows that lined the south side of the room. The Vargas family's vineyards sprawled across the lush green acres as far as the eye could see. It was amazing how much she had missed this place. Her fingers brushed the delicate linen of the tablecloth as she walked to the head of the table and sat across from her sister as their grandfather laid out their silverware and fine dishes before them. Warm bread and freshly washed fruit decorated the table already, and she tore off a hunk of bread eagerly. She had missed good Italian cooking!

"So, what happened? How did you escape?" Grandpa Roma asked, accepting a generous portion of white wine from a maidservant before turning back to his granddaughters, his normally jovial expression serious. "I had men everywhere looking for you two, for months! I finally received a Paris newspaper a few days ago describing what happened in Moscow, but—"

"We didn't escape," Feliciana interrupted earnestly, between bites of fresh mango. Her brown eyes shone fiercely as she continued, "You have it all wrong, Grandpa! They're not bad people at all…" She rapidly filled him in on the events of the past few months, since that fateful flight across the Mediterranean back in December. Lovina listened contentedly, eagerly accepting a plate of spaghetti from a servant and watched her animated sister explain everything as she twirled pasta around her fork.

Everything was finally right. Her spacey parents were still off on some extended vacation in Liechtenstein, probably unaware that their daughters had gone missing in the first place. Feli was talking a mile a minute and bursting with energy, as usual; Grandpa was nodding encouragingly and agreeing or worrying when appropriate.

Lovina sighed, setting down her utensils and staring out the window at the sunlit acres behind her sister's head, flushed a rosy hue from the setting Italian sun. Yes, everything was as it should be, but she already missed Antonio and her other friends, far more than she cared to admit. After a delicious serving of tiramisu, Lovina excused herself to her room, awkwardly returning the heartfelt greetings of the household servants as she climbed the winding staircase to her room on the second floor.

She sighed with relief upon seeing her old four poster bed and wide bay windows overlooking the luscious countryside. She flopped onto the downy white coverlet, upsetting the stack of letters placed next to her embroidered pillows. She rolled onto her side so she could thumb through them. Some of them were quite dated, from the months she had been away. _Giovanni must have saved them_, she mused. There were a few from her mother, expressing concern over her absence. _Why did you even send them here?_ She thought, frowning, as she opened one and read about her mother's latest shopping excursion. There was one from their local priest, dating before December that she had forgotten to respond to. And on the top was a blank one, a creamy envelope dated from only two weeks ago, the day she and Feli had boarded their ship back to Italy, in fact. A shy smile stole across her face when she unsealed it and recognized Antonio's bold, flourishing handwriting:

_Querida! _

_ I know you probably won't read this for a few days at least, but that's alright! It's strange now that we've all split up. I miss everyone already, but I suppose a break is good. I think we all needed some space. I miss you terribly, but at least I have Ludwig for company. I wish you were in France with us! Have you ever tried escargot? It's disgusting. My friend Francis made us try it. Ludwig said my face was pretty hilarious, but it's hard to tell with him because he smiles about as often as you do. Not that that's a bad thing! _

_ Anyway, we're staying with my friend Gilbert in his flat at Montreuil-sur-Mer. It's pretty, I guess, but I really miss Spain. Oh, but that reminds me! Gil says he knew you and Feli when you were little! I bet you were even more adorable then! Ah, but I have to go now, mi carina. We'll be in Naples in two weeks or so, though, and I hope that I will see you then!_

_Yours, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo_

She laughed a little at his ridiculously flamboyant signature. She shook out the envelope to see if there was another page, but no, it was only that one short letter. Disappointed, she smoothed out the letter to read it again. _Two weeks_, she thought to herself. _I can wait that long._

* * *

They arrived in Rome sooner than any of them expected, on a fair June day nearing July. It was deliciously warm out, and everyone seemed to be caught in the same lethargic state that these Italian summers created. Lovina was in the kitchen, lazily devouring the remains of a baguette and reading a book, when she heard the furious cursing coming from the foyer.

"_The hell do you think you're doing in my home you bastard I'll kill you dammit-!" _

Lovina looked up, startled, from her perch on the kitchen counter at Giovanni, who was dicing up tomatoes to go with their evening salad. "What—" She began.

"I don't know," Giovanni replied, grabbing his chopping knife and heading for the doorway, a concerned expression on his normally cheerful face.

They ran down the hallway to the foyer, and Lovina gave a shocked yelp when she recognized the two men Grandpa Roma was yelling at. Lovina noted with alarm that he was waving a pistol rather erratically in the air.

"You think I don't recognize you, you fucking bandit? I should blow your brains out right now! I—"

"Grandpa!" Lovina exclaimed, running to his side and tugging on his sleeve. "Stop! They're not going to harm us! Grandpa!"

"Giovanni, take Lovina to her room," Grandpa Roma growled, continuing to point his pistol in the face of a certain pirate captain that Lovina found she rather missed. "And ring for the police."

"_Si, senor_," Giovanni said smartly, but Lovina interrupted, "No! You can't!"

Startled, Grandpa Roma turned his head a fraction to the side and looked down at his imperious little granddaughter with wide brown eyes and repeated, "I can't?"

Lovina felt Antonio's warm green eyes on her but didn't look at him. "You can't. Remember what Feli told you! They've saved our lives, countless times! You can't kill them," she added, gently taking his gun away.

"Ah, thank you," Antonio laughed, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I tried to explain to him, but—"

"You have about as much tact as an American," Ludwig growled from behind him. Lovina scowled when she noticed him there. She wasn't sure how she had missed him; he towered over Antonio where they both hovered anxiously on the Vargas' doorstep, a disapproving expression on his face. "My apologies, Senor Vargas."

"Wait a minute," Grandpa Roma said incredulously. "Is—is that _you_, Heinrich?" He stared at the German young man before him in slack jawed amazement.

Lovina's eyes flickered between the two men in confusion. Heinrich? No. Hadn't Feliciana specifically said that he _wasn't_ Heinrich? Or that he denied it? Or something?

"Yes, sir," Ludwig said, nodding. "It is good to see you again, sir."

"My boy!" Grandpa Roma said, his demeanor changing entirely. He brushed past Antonio and hugged the much taller young man, nearly crushing him in one of his infamous hugs. "Why, I thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth! After you and your family left, we didn't know what to think—but where are my manners? Come in, come in," he urged, taking him by the arm and leading him inside.

"Grandpa," Lovina said, embarrassed at his behavior. She glanced at Antonio, who continued to wait in the doorway, a hopeful expression in his eyes.

"Fine," the older man growled. "Because Feliciana spoke so highly of you."

"Only Feliciana?" Antonio said, the hopefulness in his eyes dimming a little.

"Heinrich, my boy, you must tell me how you ended up in such terrible company," the older man continued cheerfully, ignoring Antonio. "Come, come! Giovanni, some wine for my young friend! What happened to you all those years ago? How is your family?"

Lovina watched her grandfather strong arm one of her least favorite people and Giovanni into their kitchen and frowned. She heard the pattering of feet a few stories above and knew that Feli must have heard and was coming downstairs to investigate. She hoped she wouldn't take to Ludwig's appearance too badly…they hadn't patched things up, last she heard. She had received several letters from the frantic German, but hadn't replied to any of them.

Lovina turned to Antonio and sighed a little, tucking a strand of mahogany hair behind one ear delicately. "He's…not usually that bad…what's wrong?" She asked suspiciously, because he was grinning like an idiot.

"I missed you!" He exclaimed happily, crossing the distance between the two of them. He looked quite tanned from several weeks out in the golden French sun. His green eyes crinkled at the corners upon seeing her. His brown curls had been freshly trimmed, and he looked…well, far better than the last time she had seen him, in Copenhagen. His familiar smile made her happier than she wanted to admit. "You look lovely, Lovina." He bowed with his goofy grin and smiled at her, only a few inches taller than her in his sturdy captain's boots. He looked rather strange without his typical captain's uniform. It made him look younger, in loose-fitting brown trousers and an open, red blouse and a wide-brimmed hat that he carried in his hand.

She felt color rush into her cheeks at the loving way he said her name, with his Castilian accent. She managed to say in a cool, clipped tone, "You're earlier than I expected."

He took a step closer, his grin widening. "But you _are_ happy to see me."

She smirked a little. "I suppose," she said, shrugging. She was glad that she chose today to wear one of her nicer outfits—a trim, dark green riding outfit that clung to her every curve. Her grandpa didn't approve of it, but she was pretty damn fond of it and she had been planning on going out riding with Feli later this afternoon until someone had decided to show up on her doorstep.

"You suppose?" Antonio asked, an injured look in his eyes. "Well, that's no good." He sighed and put his hat back on his head, nodding curtly at her and stepping towards the door. "I was going to ask your grandfather for permission to formally court you, but he already dislikes me. I'm not sure your supposed affection is quite enough to risk my life for." He sighed and put his hand on the door handle with a ridiculously aggrieved air about him.

"What? You can't leave already. That would be rude," Lovina pointed out, reaching out a hand towards him before she could stop herself.

He turned very quickly—_too _quickly, she thought suspiciously—and grabbed her hand, drawing her close to him. "I was hoping you would say that," he said merrily, tugging on her arm so she stumbled forward, and kissed her soundly.

She was unable to hide her smile as she kissed him back, tilting her face up to his and closing her eyes, inhaling the mingled scent of sweat and fresh linen that drifted off of his skin. He cupped her face in his warm hands, and pulled back to murmur, "I _really_ missed you," before returning to the more important task at hand.

"Oh, sorry!" Someone exclaimed, far too close, and they sprang apart like startled birds.

Antonio sheepishly brought his hands behind his back and turned to face Feliciana, who had just come down the stairs and awkwardly hovered at the bottom step.

Lovina sighed. Why did her sister have to have such terrible timing? She ignored the embarrassment that colored her face as she said, "Ludwig is here, Feli. He's with Grandpa in the kitchen."

"What?" Her sister exclaimed anxiously, concern turning down the corners of her smiling mouth.

"_Si! _He's been quite worried about you," Antonio added helpfully, still keeping his respectful distance from Lovina. "He thinks you hate him." The Spaniard looked quite distraught at the idea.

"Oh," was all Feliciana said. The younger Vargas twin hopped off the last step and smiled warmly at Antonio. "Ve, it's good to see you again, Toni." She paused when she heard her grandfather's booming laugh and a much quieter response come from the kitchen. She bit her lip and looked at Lovina. "I don't want to see him, Lovi."

Lovina frowned. Normally, she would have been elated to hear those words, but she was rather curious as to why Ludwig thought she would want to talk to him. Maybe the potato bastard had a good reason, after all. And anyway, it wasn't likely that Grandpa Roma would let him go so soon; he had been quite fond of him as a child. She opened her mouth to say as much, but Antonio beat her to it.

"Oh, that reminds me, Feli," Antonio said, reaching into his shirt and withdrawing a letter. "This is from Gilbert, to both of you! We stopped to visit him in France, and he wanted to say hello when he heard we were going to Rome! And he says to give his baby brother a chance to explain," he added, with a wide smile.

Feli took a few steps forward and grabbed the envelope, turning it over curiously. Her face softened slightly at the mention of her old friend's name, and she nodded. "I'll talk to him," she said reluctantly. With a sigh, she dragged herself into the kitchen.

Lovina nodded at Antonio, and they followed behind her.

"Feli!" Grandpa Roma said delightedly. He sat at the head of the table, drinking from a rather large glass of wine. "I was just about to call for you! You remember Heinrich, don't you?"

Feli stiffened as she paused at the opposite end of the table, her small fists clenched as she stared at her friend uncertainly.

Ludwig, meanwhile, looked as if he had seen a ghost. He sat to the right of her grandfather, looking healthy and flushed from the midday's heat in his typically formal attire, pressed trousers and a neatly tucked in white blouse. He stared at her helplessly, his hand frozen around a wineglass. He looked as if he was permanently attached to the Vargas' dinner table. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.

"Well, I'll let you two catch up," Grandpa Roma said obliviously, and Lovina wondered how many glasses of wine he had consumed today._ It's only three_, she thought incredulously. "Carriedo!" He barked.

Antonio jumped. He came into the kitchen a good five feet behind Lovina, but he still looked as if he expected the handsome older gentleman to murder at him at any second, and Lovina had to admit that it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. "Yes, sir?"

"Why don't you come with me? I'll show you around the vineyards," he said pleasantly, standing up and staring at Antonio with a positively malevolent glint in his eyes.

"Grandpa, that's not necessary," Lovina interjected, fearing for the Spaniard's safety. Her grandpa may not have been a tall man, and he was approaching his fifty fifth year, but he was still every bit the intimidating Italian general he used to be.

"I insist," he said grandly, shooting Antonio a look that demanded compliance. "It won't take an hour."

"That sounds wonderful, sir," Antonio said, looking a little pale under his summer tan. Lovina would have laughed, but her grandfather's suspiciously cheerful attitude was rather concerning. Grandpa Roma stood up and approached the young couple, laying a heavy hand on Antonio's shoulder.

"Right this way," he said merrily, propelling him towards the small door that led out into the vineyards behind the Vargas estate.

Antonio complied, daring a panicked look at Lovina over his shoulder.

_Please don't say anything stupid_, she thought, praying that he could somehow read the expression on her face. _Please don't say anything that could make him want to kill you._

When the door shut behind them, she realized that Feliciana and Ludwig still hadn't said a single word to each other. She glanced between the two of them. Feli stood at the end of the table, Ludwig still sat opposite her, looking at her forlornly.

"I'll, uh, I'm going for a ride," Lovina said, half wondering if she should stay in case Feli got upset. But no, she reasoned. Her sister would be eighteen in a few days; she was old enough to manage her own affairs. "I'll be back."

Neither of them said anything, so she slipped out of the kitchen and made her way to the family's stables. She saw her wonderful old mare, Cecilia, and sighed happily. "What am I going to do with them?" She murmured to her horse, patting her flank as she saddled the animal herself. She swung up into the sidesaddle and gripped the reigns, leading her horse out of the crowded stables. Just a quick ride, and then she would return. She didn't really want to stick around to hear Ludwig beg for Feli's forgiveness, and she didn't want to just wait for Antonio to return. She sighed as Cecilia trotted down the worn path, away from the vineyards and down to the small pond on the north side of the estate.

It wasn't until a few minutes later, when she had dismounted and let Cecilia get a drink from the pond, that the full impact of Antonio's earlier words hit her.

_I was going to ask your grandfather for permission to formally court you!_

She groaned aloud, causing Cecilia to whinny and nuzzle her mistress in concern. "Famous last words," she muttered. She just hoped that Grandpa Roma would give him a chance to explain himself before he had the gall to ask that. But still, the words sent a rush of warmth through her body. She buried her face in Cecilia's sun-warmed flank and sighed, running her hands through the mare's mane, unable to contain the happiness that bubbled up within her. She let out a laugh as she imagined her grandfather's face. _Well, at the very least, it would be interesting_, she mused as she sat down beside her horse to wait for their return.

* * *

_Italian_

_Grazie- thank you_

_Bambina - baby girl_

_meno Male- thank God_

_bella - beautiful_

_senor - sir_

_si - yes_

_Also, Giovanni is supposed to be Seborga! _

_Spanish_

_Adios, mi hermano - good-bye, my brother_

_Querida - sweetheart, dear_

_mi carino - my dear, my darling_

_Sad Nordics is, like, my least favorite thing. I'm sorry? But Mathias deserved a funeral ;_; But now that that's done, I can get on to shipping._

_Ahhh, the big reveal! Ludwig/Heinrich gets to finally explain himself to Feli...I have a feeling that Feli can be quite fierce if she feels betrayed. Poor Ludwig. All will be clear next chapter! Please R&R, and thanks for reading!_


	22. Ch 22- You and I

**A/N: GerIta is not my otp, I whisper to myself as I write this incredibly chapter. This was supposed to be a USUK and Spamano story. Oh, who am I kidding? I love GerIta in every form. **

* * *

Ludwig studied the girl in front of him. A young woman, really. She looked well, glowing with health and her family's good cooking. She wore her brown-turning-copper-colored hair in a single plait down her left shoulder, but a few short wisps curled around her heart-shaped face. She looked taller in her riding boots than usual, although they only peeped out from her saffron yellow day dress. She looked beautiful, really, except for the distant expression on her face. It fairly broke his heart to see her. He wondered if she had even read any of the letters he sent her.

"You look nice," he began awkwardly, after clearing his throat.

"Thank you," she said coolly. She sounded uncannily like Lovina when she was angry. It was positively unsettling. She didn't sit next to him. She just stood at the end of the table, arms folded across her chest, regarding him with mild interest.

He took a deep breath, stood up, and approached her. "Listen, Feli," he said softly. "If you have any affection for me, our friendship, you'll hear me out. I didn't lie to you. I was…confused."

He thought he saw something waver in her eyes, but he wasn't sure. He took another deep breath and pressed on, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. "You see, when we were younger…my family fell onto hard times. My father was a foot soldier in the German army. My mother was the one with the wealthy background. But something terrible happened to our family. My mother's uncle got into debt, became involved with some…sordid things…and we lost almost all of our family's money."

He now had her full attention. She regarded him with wide eyes, looking almost concerned, yet distrustful.

"I don't remember much," he admitted. "I was eight. My mother fell into a depression. She didn't know what to do. Our uncle completely ruined our family name. We decided to move back to Germany, with my grandfather. We didn't have time to say good-bye. I tried…" He swallowed. "I tried to convince Gilbert to let me see you. He told me that we couldn't see your family again, that they wouldn't want to see us in our disgraced state. I didn't believe him, but it didn't matter. We left for Germany two weeks later. And that's when..." He closed his eyes, against the sudden onslaught of memories. A simple carriage ride through Bonn with his parents and brother. His mother looking beautiful, if thin, her kind blue eyes twinkling as she watched Gilbert fussing over Ludwig's neat little uniform. Their father, looking tired, in a rather worn Sunday suit. Clear skies and the bustling city that Ludwig had been born in. And suddenly, the carriage hit a rut in the road, turning over. His father yelling, trying to lift the carriage off of his wife's broken body. Gilbert shaking him, trying to wake him up, trying not to cry. That's when everything became fuzzy, as if he was looking at his memories through some kind of underwater scope. Gilbert told him later that he had hit his head badly, and had lain in bed for a week. When he woke up, he had no memories of the little girl from Italy that he loved so much. He could barely remember his mother's name, or what he had for breakfast that day. It took him nearly a month to recover, and when he did, he only had anger in his heart for the hardships in his life. His mother, gone; his selfish uncle, for whom he had been named, disappeared with the remainder of their faimly's money; his father, a broken shell of the man he used to be. That was when Heinrich had shaken off his first name; he couldn't stand to be associated with his uncle, whose first name he bore. Instead, he went by his middle name, Ludwig, effectively closing that chapter of his life.

He managed to convey as much to Feliciana, with many pauses and fleeting glances at her face. Finally, he concluded with, "But Feli, I didn't completely forget. I knew, when I saw you on your grandfather's ship all those months ago, I knew that I recognized you from somewhere. The way you laughed, the way you bounced on your toes when you were excited, that curl of yours…" He swallowed and looked away, his cheeks filling with color. "But I am sorry, for the grief that I caused you." He cursed his heavy, awkward words, wishing there was an easier way to tell her the way he felt, the way he had always felt, ever since he was a child. "And I am sorry, because I am afraid that you do not feel the way that I do now. I am sorry for that."

She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Her wide brown eyes flickered across his face tenderly, and he felt a rush of warmth at the feelings he saw there, even though his practical mind urged him not to hope. Hoping had never done him any good before.

"What…what way is that?" She asked in a rather husky tone. Unconsciously, she stepped closer to him, so that there was hardly any space between them. Time seemed to temporarily stand still in the luxurious dining room of the Vargas home. Even the humming of summer insects from the open window nearby fell silent, waiting. She looked golden in the mid-afternoon light, the fiery strands in her brown hair turning to gold at the ends, her long eyelashes fluttering like a moth's wings as she hardly dared to blink, waiting his answer. Her small hands, clenched into fists at her side, shook slightly with emotion.

"I love you, Feliciana," he said simply, clasping those trembling hands and staring down into her face tenderly. "I always have. I don't have pretty words for you, or money, or—"

Unfortunately, he didn't get to finish what was probably not going to be an eloquent proposal, because she wrapped her slender arms around his neck and stretched up to kiss him on the mouth, hungry for his touch.

Shocked, and a little mortified, he nevertheless grabbed her by the waist and kissed her back enthusiastically, not even considering the possibility that Lovina might walk in on them at any moment. She was here, she was in his arms, and she cared about him too. It was better than any outcome he could have calculated, and recently, he had been spending _many_ idle hours contemplating how this would turn out. But this, he reflected, was by far the most satisfying. Her soft lips were warm against his, and he could feel her body pressing against him through the thin cloth of her dress, sending rather unseemly thoughts coursing through his mind. Her slight fingers tickled the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine, and she finally pulled back from his mouth long enough to sigh, happily, "I love you too."

"_Ja_," he said uncertainly, his lips curling into a shy smile. "That is good."

She leaned back and laughed, not letting go of him. "It is good," she agreed, her eyes twinkling with mischief at his clumsy phrasing. "Oh, Ludwig...I'm so glad. I'm so glad that you weren't lying." She hugged him tightly, burying her face in the rough fabric of his freshly pressed clothes. He heard a slight sniffle and asked, incredulously, "Feli? Are you crying?"

"I was so horrible to you," she said in a muffled voice, pressing closer to him. "I didn't believe you, I didn't answer your letters, I—"

"Feli," he said pleadingly. "It's okay, it really is. I understand. You couldn't have known. I didn't know! I wouldn't have known, if we hadn't gone to see Gilbert in France—he's the one that told me. I told him about you, and he told me—"

"You told him about me?" She interrupted, pulling away to look up at him with slightly damp amber eyes.

"_J-ja_," he stuttered, his face heating up again. "I had to. I had to tell him about the girl…the woman that I wanted to marry. That is…if you will accept me."

"Yes!" She crowed happily, triumphantly. Her eyes shone fiercely. She leaned up to kiss him again, before he could ruin the moment, pressing her open mouth against his, with all the passion she had been saving for him.

"F-Feli, this isn't—this isn't appropriate," he managed, pulling away reluctantly. "We're not married yet…"

"I don't care," she said impetuously, tugging on his lapels, about to kiss him again, but he interrupted, "I didn't get to propose to you formally."

"Ve, okay," she said with a sigh, relaxing back onto her feet. Kissing Ludwig was rather difficult; he was quite a bit taller than her. "I am ready."

"W-well, alright," he said, his entire face on fire as she watched him expectantly, a huge smile stretching across her entire face. He cleared his throat, and unfastened her hands. He placed them at her side and took a respectful step backwards. "Very well, then. Ahem." It felt quite warm in the room all of a sudden, and even though knew that—well, he presumed—she would say yes, he still felt quite nervous all of a sudden.

"Feliciana Isabella Vargas, I promise to stay by your side, today and every day, and to care for you as best as I can. I love you," he paused, tucking a curl behind her ear, "more than life. If you agree to take me as your husband, I would be the happiest man alive. Will you marry me?" _Not bad_, he thought, although he was glad that he hadn't had to resort to Gilbert's speech, which involved quite a bit more flattery and wheedling.

"Yes!" She exclaimed, bouncing a little as she reached up to peck him on the lips affectionately. "Of course I do!"

He chuckled a little, and reached inside his trouser pocket. "Close your eyes," he instructed quietly.

She giggled, and held out her hand.

Carefully, he slipped the small, delicate ring onto her finger. "There," he said, in a much huskier voice than before.

She opened her eyes and gasped. "It's…it's beautiful," she whispered, holding it up for inspection. It was a small, simple gold band, with a modestly sized diamond in the center, cut in the shape of a star.

"It was my mother's," he said, feeling a warmth in his chest at seeing it on her hand. "She would have wanted you to have it. She cared about you very much."

"I love it," she answered, holding it up to the light and beaming. Her eyes were watery again.

"Are you crying again?" He asked, looking a little perplexed.

"No! I'm just happy!" She insisted with a watery laugh, hugging him again. "I'm so glad, Ludwig…" She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and he reached down to cradle her head, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet skin that rose off of her skin, like fresh summer flowers.

"Me too," he said quietly, holding her tightly. "I'll never leave your side again, Feliciana. I promise."

For once, the talkative girl didn't reply, but only hugged him more tightly, grateful to have the boy that she had loved so much in her arms once again.

* * *

Lovina blinked sleepily against the warm June sun. She must have fallen asleep against the tree. Her mare, Cecilia, dozed a few feet away, sighing contentedly in her sleep. Lovina yawned and sat up, brushing the grass off of the sleeves of her frock. "Come on," she murmured to her horse, patting her flank. "Time to go back. I'm sure they're home by now."

Cecilia neighed in protest, annoyed at being woken from her afternoon nap, but Lovina procured an apple from the pockets of her dress, and she stood up eagerly, her downy nose nuzzling her mistress for the treat. "When we get home," she told her mount sternly. "Come on, old girl." She adjusted the leather saddle and stepped into the stirrups, swinging herself up onto her back. "Let's head back."

She rode the mile or so back to the villa, fighting off the drowsy aftereffects of her nap. She led Cecilia back to the stables and handed her off to a servant. "Make sure to take her for a cool down walk," she instructed the handler, giving him the reigns and the promised apple. "Please." Since returning home, she had been trying to improve her manners with the household staff, and they in turn were kinder to her than before she left.

"Certainly, Miss Vargas," the handler replied, smiling.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. _Feli had always been better at talking to people_, she reflected as she walked up the hill back to the main building of Grandpa Roma's estate. She walked up to the side door that led into the kitchen and paused, wondering if Feli and Ludwig were still talking._ Surely they were done_, she thought. It had been more than an hour since she left. She slipped into the unoccupied kitchen, snatching a croissant as she passed into the dining room. It was empty. She stuffed the bread into her mouth and called, "Feli?"

She heard distant laughter coming from the foyer and pursed her lips suspiciously. She thought she recognized Giovanni's voice, and she would know that loud, high-pitched giggle anywhere. She smiled. After Mathias' death, that laugh had been quite rare. When Lovina once found it obnoxious, she now found that she had missed it. She walked through the corridors to the foyer and saw her sister in one of the adjoined sitting rooms, sitting in Ludwig's lap and laughing at something that Giovanni said. Her face flooded with angry color. What the hell happened to disliking him? And how dare that German bastard sit with her like that? She was a lady! He wasn't allowed to touch her like that!

She stormed into the sitting room, a furious expression on her face. She opened her mouth to yell at Ludwig—and her foolish twin, too—but Feli's eyes landed on her, and she grinned hugely. "Lovi!" She squealed excitedly, hopping out of Ludwig's lap to hug her. "Ve, I was wondering where you went! I have great news!"

"Really," Lovina said sardonically, shooting Ludwig a malevolent glare over her sister's shoulder. He looked properly ashamed and shrugged at her, as if to say that Feli's forwardness wasn't his fault. She scowled.

"Yes!" Feli released her sister but clasped her on the shoulder, beaming at her with her characteristic smile. "Ludwig proposed to me! And I said yes!"

Lovina's mouth popped open, but no sound came out. No _way_ was her baby sister marrying that potato! This had to be a nightmare. She patted her face roughly and blinked, but they were still in front of her, Feliciana bouncing from foot to foot in excitement, and Ludwig looking proud but still embarrassed.

"Isn't it wonderful, Lovina?" Giovanni said happily. He was the only servant that regularly skipped formalities with the Vargas girls, because he had known them since they were children. He stood by the window, evidently watching for his master to return. He positively beamed, as if _he_ were the one getting married.

"Wonderful?" She spluttered finally. "What—what happened? Feli, I thought you hated him?"

Ludwig flinched, to her satisfaction, but Feli only shook her head. "No, no, I was wrong about him," she said sincerely, practically glowing with happiness. "Sit, sit!" She tugged on her sister's hand, leading her to the comfy armchair next to the sofa. Lovina sat down grudgingly, staring up at Feliciana with a perplexed look on her face. She listened in disbelief as Feli repeated Ludwig's story to her, her face shifting slightly as she realized how much he had been through. She dared a glance at Ludwig while her sister told her all of this, and saw a completely besotted look on his face as he watched Feliciana. She felt her disapproval lessen a fraction at the absolute adoration she saw there. He really did care about her, it seemed.

"I still don't like him," she grumbled.

"Lovi!" Feli cried, upset.

"It's alright," Ludwig said peaceably. "I don't like her either. But I will, if it makes you happy," he added hastily, seeing the frown that appeared on his fiancée's sunny face. "Of course I will."

"_Bene!_" She exclaimed, clasping her hands together happily. "I can't wait to tell Grandpa, ve!"

As if on cue, Giovanni reported, "Well, he and Mister Carriedo are coming back from their walk—"

Lovina stiffened and turned around in her seat, peering out the window to see the outlines of her grandfather and Antonio walking up the cobbled path to the house. _Well, at least he's alive_, she reflected, although he still looked quite intimidated by Grandpa Roma, who looked unusually serious.

Giovanni rushed to open the double doors for them, and both men stepped in, perspiring slightly from the heat.

"Grandpa!" Feli cried, racing over to hug him, even though he had just seen her earlier that afternoon.

"_Buon pomeriggio_," he replied, smiling a little as he hugged his joyful granddaughter. "What is it, my dear?"

"Er, may I speak with you, sir?" Ludwig asked stiffly, rising and walking over to where they stood.

"Certainly, my boy!" He agreed happily, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "Why don't you come into my study? Giovanni, bring us some wine—"

"Certainly!" The manservant said happily, disappearing into the kitchen.

"You're too kind, there's really no need for more wine, sir—" Ludwig began as Grandpa Roma lead him into his study in the back of the house, but they could hear him say, "Nonsense! No such thing as too much wine!"

Lovina sighed, shaking her head, and turned to Antonio, who watched her expectantly. "You're alive," she remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"You doubted me?" Antonio asked with a wink, sinking onto the couch with a heaviness that didn't match his jovial tone.

"Why would Grandpa Roma hurt Antonio?" Feli asked obliviously. "He's saved our lives countless times!" She plopped down into the armchair next to him, and Lovina silently cursed her for not leaving them alone. "He's one of the nicest people we know!"

"Thank you, Feli," Antonio replied, beaming at her. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced back at Lovina, who glowered darkly at them. "I'm glad someone feels that way."

"I don't know what you're insinuating," Lovina replied tartly, ignoring his gestures to sit next to him. She put her hand on her hip and regarded him contemplatively, one slender dark eyebrow raised. "What did he say to you?"

At that, Antonio sighed, and ran a hand through his unruly dark curls. His emerald eyes flickered over to where Feli sat, watching them with interest and swinging her feet happily. "Eh…Feli, would you give us a moment, please?" He smiled at her.

She blinked, and then a sly look came into her eyes. "_Si_," she said, winking at him like a conspirator. "I'm going to go listen in on Ludwig and Grandpa!"

"Don't eavesdrop," Lovina called after her bossily, although she eavesdropped on their grandfather all the time. She sighed.

"Sit," Antonio instructed, patting the cushion next to him again.

"Hmph," she grumbled, but obeyed, sitting as far away from him as possible.

Antonio twisted to face her, his eyes wide and sincere as he said, "So, I asked him."

"You asked him what?" Lovina asked archly, inspecting her nails carefully. Damn. They had gotten rather dirty from riding. She began to rub the grit off of them with the hem of her skirt.

"If I could court you," Antonio replied, sounding slightly frustrated. He reached out a hand to grab her chin, and tilted her face towards him.

Her face heated up immediately at his touch, but she managed to say in a relatively even voice, "Did you? Poor Grandpa. And Ludwig asking for Feli's hand in the same day…"

"Don't you want to know what he said?" Antonio pressed with a stormy look in his eyes that made her pulse race pleasantly.

"Yes?" She offered, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

He smiled a little. "No."

"No?" She repeated, trying not to show how much that upset her. No? So…she wouldn't be able to see him again? All of a sudden, she felt rather ill. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and said, "Then…what will you do?"

"I'm going to prove myself to him," he said earnestly, still holding her face gently between his hands. His eyes gleamed with determination. "I'm going to prove to him that I _am_ a good man, and that I do deserve you."

"I don't remember saying that you deserve me," she said loftily, but his words made her heart race. Damn Antonio and his high-strung words, making her feel like this.

"Listen to me," he urged, running his right thumb across the downy skin of her cheek, stopping at the corner of her mouth. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, slowly, teasingly. She felt her breath hitch. "I mean it. I'm going to get a job in Naples, as a merchant. I talked to Heracles about it, before I came here. We're going to get our own boat, with the money we earned from Moscow, and start our own business."

"A merchant?" She asked in surprise, forgetting to be sarcastic for a moment. "But what…what about the _Santa Maria_? Aren't you going to buy another airship?" He loved that ship more than anything, she knew, and she wanted him to be able to have that again. Nothing could ever replace his darling ship, but maybe one could come close. Maybe.

He smiled, tilting his head so that a dark curl flopped into his too-green eyes. "Ah, the _Santa Maria_," he said wistfully. "She was a good ship."

"You adored her," Lovina stated, unconsciously using the female pronoun like the other crewmen did.

"Yes," he agreed softly. "But I found something…some_one_…that I adore more." He leaned in to kiss her tenderly, pressing her against the back of the couch. His hot mouth engulfed hers, and she found herself returning his kiss with as much passion as she always did, conventions be damned.

"But—is that what you want?" She asked, panting a little as she looked into those glazed eyes.

He lifted a strand of hair and kissed her neck, smiling against her skin. "Yes," he said decidedly, planting a kiss on her jaw.

"But you won't be a pirate?" She said, valiantly resisting his efforts.

"No."

"Antonio—" She protested, as he moved back to kiss her lips again. She wasn't sure exactly how his hands had gotten so low down her back, but she knew that if her grandfather were to come in now and see them in a rather…uncomprominsing…position, that Antonio would not be long for this world. "Are you sure?" She planted her hands on his chest and pushed him into an upright sitting position, although she really just wanted to pull him down on top of her and let his lips continue to explore their way down her neck. Her body felt like fire when he trailed a hand back up her spine, tangling itself in her now mussed hair. "Will that make you happy?"

He sighed, and gave her that wide smile that made her own lips threaten to form into a grin. "I have never been more sure of anything in my life," he said seriously, grabbing her left hand and kissing it. "It might be a year, it might be five years, before he trusts me. But I will prove to your grandfather that I am a good man."

"I know you are," she returned softly, her cheeks pinking slightly.

He grinned, leaning in to steal another kiss before he muttered, "Good." They both stood up abruptly when they heard the door to one of the back rooms slam open, and Grandpa Roma's booming voice.

"Lovi! Lovi, where are you?"

"I'm here, Grandpa," she yelled back, hurriedly straightening her hair and trying to fight down the flush that adorned her cheeks. "Right where you left me!"

He burst into the room, quickly followed by Ludwig and Feli, who would not stop grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Did you know about this?" He demanded. Was he…was he _crying_? His eyes were certainly quite bright. But he was smiling.

"They told me, yes," Lovina said with a sigh, rubbing her temples wearily. Honestly, why did Grandpa and Feliciana always have to _yell_?

"I can't believe it," he exclaimed, grabbing Feli and Lovi and pulling them both to his chest. "I'm not ready to let my little girls go…"

"We—we don't have to get married right away, sir," Ludwig assured him, hovering awkwardly at his shoulder. The poor boy had had quite a day; he was looking rather frazzled.

"I was thinking of a July wedding, actually," Feli squeaked, rather smothered by her grandfather's embrace.

"At least I have you," Grandpa Roma said to Lovina, kissing the top of her head. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. Of course this is a very happy occasion. I must write to your parents, God knows what they're up to right now—"

He released them and brushed past Antonio, muttering something about, "My baby girls, I can't believe this…" But Lovina knew from the foolish grin on his face that he was actually quite pleased, about Ludwig at least. Antonio…not so much.

Lovina turned to her sister, who continued to beam at them. "I suppose if Grandpa is alright with it…" She began reluctantly.

"Ve, I knew you'd come around!" Feli cried, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her tightly. "You'll be my maid of honor! I can't wait!"

Lovina smiled at Antonio from over her shoulder, unable to stop the happy laugh that bubbled out of her. Antonio grinned too, looking delighted for his friends.

"I knew you had it in you," she thought she heard Antonio say to Ludwig, clapping the much taller man on the back.

"Ahem. Thank you," Ludwig replied, flushing.

"I think we need some champagne," Feli said decidedly. "Come on! Lovi, you'll have to help me plan everything." As she allowed herself to be led away, Lovina found herself thinking that perhaps this was acceptable after all.

* * *

_Italian_

_Bene - good!_

_Buon pomeriggio - good afternoon_

_Was that painfully cheesy? I may go back and make it less so, but...I really like it. I'm sorry if it's cringeworthy. I blame my unhealthy love of Jane Austen novels. And, let's be real. Ludwig and Feli are the cutest couple, even if they're not my favorite couple (that would be Amelia and Arthur!) They're so precious and sweet, they have to get married. And Antonio...well, he can cool his heels for a bit. Ahahah, and with a wedding, that means a reunion with my two favorite crews! Please R&R if you have the chance c:_


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